


The Reason is You

by smokingsea



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Future Fic, Mixed Details, Romance, Spoilers through ADWD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 77
Words: 165,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokingsea/pseuds/smokingsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because a mockingbird will lie to you but never die for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sansa I

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own ASOIAF. I do not profit from this story, nor would I ever seek to do so. All credit for characters and setting to the wonderful GRRM.
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> First ASOIAF fanfiction.

Sansa sat atop the perlino mare with a white woolen cloak trimmed with white fur. The hood was drawn up to hide her hair where the red was slowly beginning to show in it again. 

She remembered another white cloak she had been given twice. Once pure and clean to cover her nakedness in front of the court, and once stained with blood, wine, sweat and foul with the stench of the unnatural green fire. They had to leave the Vale after Sweetrobin died and the Maester confessed to all the doses of sweetsleep he had been giving the boy on Petyr's instructions. Sansa Stark would have been safe, but Alayne Stone was not. 

She looked down as Ser Shadrich reached up to help her down before they crossed to the tiny island at the mouth of the Trident. She accepted his help reluctantly. She moved to stand close to Ser Lothor Brune and Petyr. At least, they were dangers known. She felt herself shiver as she remembered the frightening words of one of her husband's sellswords and the man who had burned one of his eyes out. Sellswords were not people to be trusted.

The crossing was blessedly smooth, and a tall man stood at the other side, holding a lantern. His face was covered with a scarf. His gray eyes caught her blue, and she stared into them. They were familiar. They were like Arya's and her father's. She lifted a hand to her breast as he turned away from her. It—was it?

"Come Alayne, staring is impolite." Petyr took her arm and helped her gently up the long stone steps.

She followed Petyr up the steps with Lothor Brune following her and the other sellswords behind them. She stared at the back of the head of the man who held the lantern. He had a slight limp. But he was the right height and his eyes...so gray and deep. He stole a song and a kiss at the point of a dagger. Then he abandoned her.

She looked down at her hands. She had touched his face, a face that once so frightened her. She thought about him every day. And she meant nothing to him. He left her. He kissed her, then held a knife to her throat and made her sing. She wondered for a moment what happened to the bloody Kingsguard cloak the Hound left in her room. She had wrapped herself in it many times when the nights were horrid and sleeping was only a time for nightmares.

Another man stood at the top of the steps near an entrance to a sept.

"Brother, please lead the lady to the houses set aside for our female visitors. Elder Brother will stop by and see her."

The tall man with a limp nodded and waited for the others to join the first man.

Sansa stared at him, for some reason recalling the words of the king the night Lady died. 'Get her a dog, she'll be happier for it.' There were no wolves left. Were all the dogs gone as well?

Petyr said this place was called the Quiet Isle. The brothers here all had taken vows of silence. Only the Elder Brother could speak always, and the proctors were allowed to speak one day of every seven. This man wore a novice's robes. He would not speak to her. She did not feel bold enough to speak to him. If he was whom she believed him to be...

She took a seat on a wooden chair, studying her hands as she heard the man building a fire. She began to hum. She sang the Mother's song to the dog she almost had. Surely, he would not have forgotten. Would he know her? She began to sing softly.

" _Gentle Mother, font of mercy..._ "

The man's back stiffened, and his movements stilled for a moment. Sansa's voice quavered as she continued singing.

" _Save our sons from war, we pray..._ "

A fire was soon crackling in the hearth.

" _Stay the swords and stay the arrows. /Let them know a better day._ "

The man turned to her. His face was entirely shadowed by the fire at his back.

" _Gentle Mother, strength of women, /Help our daughters through this fray,_ "

He walked toward the door with her eyes on him.

" _Soothe the wrath and tame the fury, /teach us all a kinder way._ "

He turned back to her, and the light of the fire shone on his gray eyes, making them shine oddly bright. She did not look away. She smiled, blinking rapidly.

"S-" she started.

"Beautiful."

Sansa jumped and looked behind the novice, breathing heavily. She placed a hand on her chest.

"You have a lovely voice, my dear." Elder Brother walked into the hut, carrying a flagon of wine, some hard bread, and cheese.

"Brother, you may retire for the evening."

The tall man bowed his head, stooping slightly as he left.


	2. Sandor I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't a vow, not a real vow.

“Thank you, brother,” the soft feminine voice chirped behind him.

Sandor pulled the door shut behind him. He tightened the scarf. He fought not to go back and kneel at her feet like a good dog. She had not called him.

She had escaped. It should have been him to help her escape the Lannisters. Not Petyr Baelish. He had had two excellent opportunities to free her from her cage. One he denied himself. One she denied him.

She had been wearing a white cloak. He had seen her in a white cloak before. He had tossed one over her once when a lion was having her feathers ripped out. She chirped her pretty little songs and courtesies. She was still beautiful. So beautiful, and she gave him a song. Really gave it this time...he didn't take it.

Sandor turned back toward the house and wandered to the window. He leaned back on the wall determined to stay close to her tonight. He'd done this before. He slid down to sit, staring up at the stars.

How had Petyr Baelish helped the bird slip from her cage in Maegor's? What had the whoreson been doing to the little bird? What could he have done that the Imp hadn't done a thousand times over? He should have dragged her kicking and screaming from the Red Keep the night of the Battle of Blackwater, not that the little bird would ever kick and scream to get away from anyone. But then she might be dead. Dead in SaltPans. The she-wolf would assuredly have escaped, as she managed to escape his witless brother. The wolf-bitch knew when to run.

“Elder Brother, may I--” the little bird's voice cut off.

Elder Brother was quiet.

Sandor heard the splash of wine being poured in a cup. He tilted his good ear up toward the window, lowering the hood. He looked up at the cracks of light coming through the shutters.

“May I confess something?”

“You may tell me anything with no fear of anyone else hearing it from me.”

He heard heavy breathing from her. She was alive. His little bird was alive, caged by some vile creature that could be worse than a lion. Her little pet had been killed so long ago, and she had not wanted a dog that would give her his leash.

“If a marriage was never consummated, it can be laid aside?”

The Imp not consummate a marriage? Sandor held in a snort. What man would have that pretty little creature and not enjoy her beauty as often as his cock wanted her? Even if she escaped the lecherous Imp, it did not mean she would escape Baelish who had claimed to have had both Tully women before their marriages. The man was vile. He would hurt the little bird the instant that he thought it to be advantageous to him.

“A lady would most likely have to submit to an examination by a septa to assure that her claims were genuine, if a husband did not state the truth of things.”

“I was married, but it was never consummated. I was not a kind wife to my lord husband.”

Sandor shifted. He should leave. He had no business eavesdropping on this kind of conversation. He leaned his head back against the wall.

“I never loved him. I never wanted him. I was forced to marry him, to make vows in the Sept of Baelor that were lies before the High Septon. He was related to the boy who had my father beheaded and called it the mercy I begged him for.”

She was quiet for a moment. He heard the scrape of a chair on the packed dirt floor and the soft thump of a glass being set on a table. He shifted closer to the window to be better able to hear her words.

“During our marriage, if it really was a marriage, and not some jape, I thought often of another man. Even my wedding night, I thought of him. The last time I saw him, he was covered in blood. He kissed me.”

Sandor stared up when a shadow passed over the light. He hadn't kissed her, had he? He had been very drunk and swept out in a far too often indulged in secret fantasy, until she refused to look at him. He remembered his anger, how he just wanted her to see him as something less than a monster. He had never hurt her, and she was terrified of him. He heard more wine being poured into a glass.

“He put a blade to my throat, not for the first time and commanded me to sing the song I promised him. He wanted Florian and Jonquil, but I could not remember the words to it—even though he told me to sing for my life—and he had coarse words about it when I mentioned it to him once. The only song I could remember was the Mother's Hymn. I sang it. He pulled the dagger away from my throat and his voice was choked. He backed away and tore his white cloak off, leaving it there.”

Sandor tilted his head back. Was she still scared? Would she be if she saw his face? He had been frightening. But she had needed to know the danger of where she was. But he should have been different.

“I curled up in that cloak, and I kept it till I left the city and couldn't take it. He told me things about his family when he was drunk. I wonder if I really knew him, but I think about him every day. If I could see him again--”

Clack. Click. Cling. Cling.

Sandor stood up when he heard footsteps. He wrapped his face with the scarf and covered his head with his hood. He saw the short man from the boat, slinking through the shadows toward the cabin. Sandor held down the growl.

The man crept closer to the cabin. Sandor slipped into the shadows as the door opened and Elder Brother walked outside. The mouse of a man jumped and put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“May I help you, Ser?”

“I just wanted to be sure that milord's daughter was comfortable.”

“She is. Please come along back to the men's chambers.”

The man looked ready to protest.

Sandor's lip curled up, but he held his position. He slipped his dagger from its hiding place on his arm. The smooth handle felt good in his hand. He had kept it sharpened and used it to cut some of the grape vines from which the brothers made a weak wine. He turned as the door opened and the little bird stood in the doorway. He felt his breath catch.

“Ser Shadrich, does my father require me?” she spoke firmly.

“No, milady. I was sent to see that all is well with you.”

“I am very comfortable. The brothers are very generous and kind. Good night.” She shut the door.

“Come, I shall escort you back to the sleeping quarters.”

The light from Elder Brother's lantern bobbed away and disappeared as they walked up toward the main area.

Sandor moved onto the main path and felt his lips curl into a snarl as hateful and angry as his old helm had been. His words to the little bird the night the sky was green and the river burned cracked across his mind. He went sat in front of the door out of the little bird's cabin.

It wasn't a vow, not a real vow. He never made a vow; he told the truth.

_Nobody would hurt you again, or I'd kill them._


	3. Sansa II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't you want to know what happens to the little bird?”

Sansa sat up as she heard a knock on the door. She knew who it would be. She combed her fingers quickly through her hair. It had been the same man as the one who greeted her the first night. She grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around herself as she rose from the simple straw mattress on the floor. She had been watching him since that first day, and she had seen him watching her.

Petyr and the three hedgeknights had kept fairly busy and mostly left her to herself. It seemed that Petyr had to come up with another plan. After spinning elaborate lies, planning was what he did best.

“Come in,” she called.

The door swung in and the giant man with the limp stood there. His face was wrapped up, and his head was covered as they always were.

“Brother.”

The man walked in, carrying a tray laden with a bowl or warm porridge, hot bread, and butter. He did not speak a word.

Sansa walked to him.

She reached out and softly put a hand on his arm.

He spun quickly. His gray eyes gazed down at her, and his breathing was heavy.

“Thank you, Brother. You have always been so kind to me.” Sansa stepped a little closer, searching his eyes for another hint, a sign, a clue, anything—anything to prove that what she had felt when she first saw him that he was the man she wished.

He bowed his head and turned to leave.

“Please.”

He stopped at her soft call as he did with every meal he brought to her.

“Stay and eat with me. I would welcome your company.”

He turned to her, stiffening his back. His gray eyes stared into hers.

She gestured to one of the chairs.

He looked at the chair and looked at her. He moved toward the door again.

“Please stay." Sansa shifted a little even as the voice of Septa Mordane chastised her about ladies not fidgeting in her head. "Don't you want to know what happens to the little bird?”

He reached out and shut the door, turning back to her and walking to a chair. The chair groaned as he sat, and he rubbed his leg, breathing out heavily.

Sansa smiled and took her seat. She poured some of the watered wine into each cup.

“We were right at the point where the lions had abandoned the little bird to the starving rats.”

The man snorted softly.

“The little bird was terrified. She had done nothing to the rats, and they wanted nothing more than to see her suffer. She wished she could help them, but she had no bread for them. Horrible rats that stank of garlic were grabbing her, and her wings had been broken by lion's servants. One of the rats tore out a feather, raking his claw and making her bleed. She could not escape. Suddenly the most fearsome of the lion's servants, the great scarred hound with the chewed up ear and scars over his face from a battle he fought against a monster, leaped upon the rat trying to hurt the little bird. He ripped the rat's leg off and savaged the other vermin who tried to attack the little bird. He snarled and snapped, showing his fearsome aspect to the rats. They all fell back from him in terror, but the little bird, for the first time, felt no fear of him. He then took the little bird, so gently that he did not disturb a feather. He ran off taking her back to her cage. She did not make a peep the entire time. She clutched the dog. He deposited her back in her cage. She tried to keep her hold on him, but he broke away. She stared after him as he walked away, but he never looked back at her. She did not sleep that night for thinking about the dog. She could not help thinking of how he had saved her, and she had not even thanked him, even knowing that he would only have a snarl for her peeps. His snarling face, so frightful since the first time she saw it, had been somehow transformed. She needed him to know how grateful she was, but she did not see him for many days afterward.”

Sansa finished eating as her tale wound to a close. She stood up.

The brother took up the tray and the dirty dishes.

“I was thinking I would take a walk today. Would that be too imposing on the brothers, if I explored the isle?”

The man gazed down at her with his dark gray eyes. He took a step forward so that they were almost touching.

Sansa had to tip her head back to look up to where his face was hidden. She gazed into his eyes. She had always avoided _his_ eyes, because of their anger. She had never seen so much hostility and anger in anyone before him or anyone since.

The brother reached around her, his eyes scanning her face as he took her empty wine cup and the flagon. He placed them on the tray and took a step back.

Sansa reached up, feeling a compulsion to remove the scarf hiding his face. Her fingers did not get halfway there.

He whipped away as if she had tried to brand him with a hot iron, and his eyes darkened like the sky before a snowstorm. His hand snapped out, ensnaring her little hand gently.

Sansa wiggled her fingers till she slid them to interlock with his. She could feel the roughness of them, their strength. She moved her other hand up to his wrist. She drew his hand close before he snatched it away.

His eyes were dark as he turned toward the door. He walked stiffly out the door without looking back.


	4. Sandor II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But what if the heroes did make those choices?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be modifying this bit a little. Not sure how pleased I am with it.

Why did she do that? Was she playing some game with her little stories? 

He stared ahead. She did not know it was him. But if she did, she would still be polite. It was her chirping way. His hand twitched as he thought about her so soft fingers laced through his own and cupping his wrist. She had only touched him a few times and never when he was sober. He gazed at the ground as he went to the kitchens, feeling a knot in his stomach as he remembered fleetingly how her arms had felt, clutching him as they shared the horse on the mad ride back to the Red Keep the day of the Kings Landing riot.

He cursed himself. Stupid ideas. They were not life. He handed off the dirty dishes and walked to the white washed stable. He fed the animals, ever since Stranger--or Driftwood--had decided to piss on the food provided by anyone except him as well as attempting to bite anyone who got close enough.

He could have taken her away that day. He should have taken her away. In the songs she peeped so often, he would not have _taken_ her; he would have rescued her. She would have fallen in love with him and married him. He could have gotten them out of the city. It would have been days, even a week before a search would fan out from the city, assuming that they even bothered and did not assume that he and Sansa both were killed. They could have been halfway to Riverrun, or all the way there, before they were even known to have survived.

“Damn me,” he cursed himself under his breath. He had done his level best to forget every stupid drunken daydream, especially after she married the Imp. But she had not consummated the marriage...she said. He should have crushed the Imp's head between his hands rather than leave him to live through the fire and marry the little bird. He should have insisted on taking her along, but she had looked so terrified that it broke something that was already strained. He could not hurt her.

She said that she thought about him every day since they parted. She thought of him her wedding night. She remembered kissing him. He had not kissed her. Why would she remember a kiss that never happened? She spoke to Elder Brother about him. She could not have known that he would stay close the whole night and every night since to watch over and protect her.

He wandered through the stables quickly feeding the horses and donkeys. 

Driftwood stamped and snorted a little, arching his neck. He scented the air and strained his head up, toward the perlino mare that the little bird had ridden. Driftwood kicked the wall viciously, straining toward the mare and stamping both of his front feet in a fury when she turned around and lifted her tail.

He stroked the horse's neck softly to sooth him.

CLOMP. BAM. 

Sandor scowled at the mare as she continued swish her tail and turn in a circle in her stall, keeping an eye on the stallion as she ate. The cold hearted mare was having the poor stallion on, knowing he could not reach her. Another brother, the one that his bold black courser had torn the ear off, took the mare by a lead rope. The bold horse lunged out as the mare was led by him, nipping her neck and stomping as she swished her tail in his face. He rubbed the horse's neck to calm him after the mare was out of sight.

Driftwood stomped and kicked the back wall of his stall.

He turned with a heavy snort to go speak to Elder Brother. As he turned, he saw the little bird standing there with a face, flushed with cold. She stared at the black courser. He reached out and stroked down the horse's neck. 

Sansa stared at the black horse. She approached the confined horse kept so far away from the other animals. She stared at him, stopping well away from the courser.

Driftwood trumpeted loudly, tossing his head.

Sandor looked at the little bird. He had not looked upon her for almost a year, and he had spent every spare moment of the last week, gazing upon her when he was sure she did not know. She was so beautiful, even in the plain white and gray wool dresses that she wore. She was a little bird trying to disguise itself by rolling in dirt, but the bright colors could not be concealed by the filth. She winced as the black horse bugled, kicking his stall door as he raised to his hind legs.

“I was looking for my horse,” she said, staring at the black horse before stepping a bit closer to him. She chewed her lip softly. “I brought her an apple.” She held up a large green apple.

Sandor motioned to her to follow him, taking the lead rope of the stamping courser. The horse would break himself or tear the barn down to get to a mare in heat. He kept his body between the horse's mouth and the little bird, walking slowly. 

“I know some people think all the stories and songs are foolish and fanciful, formed from the dreams of singers and poets.”

He looked down at the little bird. _The Rains of Castamere_ was anything but foolish or fanciful. It was truth, ugly truth. But most were.

“Certainly, singers can not and do not reveal every aspect of the truth. Just because the stories and the songs are not entirely true—it doesn't mean that there isn't really something there, does it? Sometimes ugly things can be left out. I don't know if they should be.”

 _What was the little bird peeping about?_ He looked down at her. She smiled, flipping her hair back and rubbing her lips together. She tilted her head to the side, blinking her large eyes blue as the sky on the first clear day of spring.

He rolled his eyes at her, making sure to lean down to her eye level. He could not help noticing her soft pink lips were slightly swollen and colored from her worrying them. She remembered kissing him. Why? It had not happened. Why would she fabricate a memory like that? He sighed, looking down at her pretty hands, where they were clasped in front of her. She had touched him on the cheek though, his burned cheek, when the fire raged around them. She had touched his shoulder after he told her Gregor shoving his face into the flames.

“Maybe the singers are carried away with fantasy," the little bird pressed a hand to the crook of his arm as if he was a high lord or a knight escorting her and continued. "But what if the heroes did make those choices? What if the only difference between a man and a monster is who he chooses to be?” She went quiet then, looking away from him.

The horse jerked his head, tilting it back and flaring his nostrils as he scented the air. 

Sandor pushed open the gate, releasing the stallion. He bowed his head to Sansa as the stallion burst with speed, bounding and kicking his back legs out wildly, trumpeting as he leaped upward in the mare's line of vision.

He glanced back at her, where she stood by the paddock, twisting and turning the apple in her hands. He needed to talk to Elder Brother.


	5. Sansa III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided that Sansa's age shall be increased to the TV stated age at the beginning of the series--thirteen. So I would put her between fifteen and sixteen for the start of the fic.

Sansa stared at the black horse, remembering the vision of a tall man with a hound's head helm in plain gray armor and olive green cloak charging down the lists in a fury to unseat a knight in a white cloak who wore a golden lion head's helm. She knew the Hound would win that tilt with the Kingslayer. It was in the tourney held to honor her father's elevation to Hand of the King.

The stallion took the mare's tail and tossed it playfully, nudging in to get behind her as he dropped her tail. She looked fragile and sweet, turning to the great war horse that looked to be twice her size. She stretched her nose toward the stallion's neck. He turned his head sharply giving her a nip. She backed from him and trotted a few steps away. He raised to his hind legs, bugling fiercely as he kicked his front legs. He moved toward her, herding her away from a few geldings that were grazing close to her. She wickered, and he gave her flank a sharp nip, sending her scurrying in front of him to the opposite side of the paddock.

Sansa closed her eyes, sighing before she turned away to find Elder Brother. That was the Hound's horse. She would ask how he came to be here. Maybe the Elder Brother would know what became of his master. But she would have to find a way to talk to him when she was sure that Petyr would not find out. Petyr could not know that someone who knew her identity was on the island.

She wandered toward the cave, kicking at some drifts of snow that were collecting. She stopped as she heard a deep, rasping voice. She turned and looked in every direction.

THUMP!

She stared toward the door to the cave. She walked slowly closer to the cave, pressing a hand to her mouth to not cry out. She moved slower when she was able to distinguish the words.

“I watched her all the way south down the Kingsroad from the North to Kings Landing. She was such a pretty little thing, always a polite word to say to everyone who was pretty—but not so much as a smile for an ugly dog who guarded her precious, gallant prince.”

She crept closer. That voice. She pressed a hand over her mouth, and pressed tightly to the rockface outside the cave.

“She never looked me in the eye without fear filling hers. She did not even know me. I had not spoken a word to her, and she treated me like I was nothing. I did not deserve anything from her, but I wasn't nothing.”

Sansa shivered, tucking her knees up where she sat, mostly sheltered from the wind. A lady would not have noticed his hideous scars. A lady would have been able to smile at him, but she was a little girl then. A lady would leave and not listen to such things. A lady would not seek to know, but Petyr had taught her well—What you know might hurt you, but what you don't know might kill you. So she had locked away the things about Sansa that Petyr was not allowed to know.

“I decided I would force the issue and make her have to look at me, just once. I wanted her to see me.”

Sansa flinched remembering the light of the torch shining off the burn scars and his shout the night he escorted her back to the Red Keep before the last jousting in the Tourney of the Hand. She clutched her knees as his shout in her memory rang as loudly, _Look at me. Look at me!_

“I was not trying to scare her—not really. I knew I did. I knew she did not like ugly things. She just sank to her knees in front of me, clutching her direwolf pet. I had never seen something so small and helpless. Or so frightened. I was so irritated with her. I tried to show her that I would not hurt her that day. All I did was speak a dozen words to her, and she fell to the ground, as if I put my sword against her throat to kill her.”

Sansa slid her hands to her shoulders, recalling the initial feeling of comfort his strong hands gave when she met eyes with Ser Ilyn Payne. Tears rose to her eyes. She had been thoughtless of him that day, thoughtless to him too many days.

“I did nothing to scare her, and she could not spare one pretty chirp to me that she could speak with ease to any of her precious, beautiful knights. The queen sent her whelp over, and he ordered me away from her, telling me that I was frightening her. I obeyed like a good dog and went to nurse my wounds.”

Sansa remembered that day. She remembered that Ser Ilyn had been the most frightening person she had ever seen. The Hound, though he still terrified her, was not so frightening as that gaunt, sunken man who would later—she shuddered, holding in the vomit at the memory of the first time she had ever seen her father's great sword Ice swung. She did not want to remember that. She could not think about that now.

“That evening the queen had her wolf killed. She cried most of the remainder of the journey to Kings Landing, and that blond shit, laughed about her tears. If I had not frightened her, I might have been able to be closer to her.”

She shifted a little at the angry limping pace she heard. She put her chin on her knee, unable and unwilling to leave. It was comforting to hear his rasping, growling, dark voice again. It was something familiar, and something true for the first time in a long time.

“The next chance I got to spend time being close to her was when the blond shit had me escort her back after the first day of the Tourney of the Hand. She was so disappointed that her 'gallant prince' was not taking her back. I was drunk, and I laughed at her disappointed expectations. At least, she found her voice that night to speak to me. I could not take my eyes off her, and she could not look at me. I was still nothing in her eyes. It was infuriating. I could not stand it when she began chirping inanely about gallantry while looking at her feet.”

Sansa winced, curling up tighter on herself as she heard another loud thump as if a hand or fist was being slammed down on a table. His angry, obstinately brooding gaze flashed in her mind.

“I forced her to look at me, pinching her pretty little chin, just enough to keep her from pulling away. I wasn't nothing! I made her look at me. She cried, and I let her go. I put out the torch so she would not have to see anymore, so she would not see how angry and hurt I was by what I did. Making her cry. I told her how I got my burns and about my brother, the knight. I was lost in my own angry world then. But she was seeing me. Then she reached out and put her little hand on me as soft as if she was cradling a butterfly and put it on my shoulder. She gave me compassion—after I had frightened her so much, made her cry and tremble. No one ever did that before. I did not want her to cry—not if I could do something about it.”

Sansa shifted, remembering how that night had ended in the corridor that led to her room. ' _If you ever tell_ anyone, _I'll kill you._ '

“The next day I unseated the Kingslayer and then Gregor faced Ser Loras, _the Knight of Flowers_. The little fool played a trick on Gregor and unseated him. Gregor was furious, killed his horse in his rage and then attacked the young idiot. I was standing with the prince. I looked over to see how the pretty creature would take this, seeing what knights really did. She had tears in her eyes and the red rose that the Tyrell boy had given her the day before with pretty words that she liked to hear. I hated him for the way she smiled at him for his flower and pretty words. She did not look away from his pretty face. If I had tried the same horseshit and pretty words, she would not have taken the flower or pretended to not know it was for her.”

Sansa shifted so she could better hear him. She had been terrified for Ser Loras facing the Mountain that Rides. And Ser Loras had forgotten her after that day.

“Suddenly, my sword was out, and I told Gregor to leave her precious little knight alone. I blocked a blow that would have cleaved the boy in half and he managed to get away. For a fraction of a second, Gregor seemed as shocked as I was that I was there. I wondered in that time just what in the seven fucking hells I was doing. I had heard her request before the tilt, 'Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him.'”

Sansa remembered that request, but she had not realized that she had been heard by the Hound.

“Then Gregor and I began to fight. He swung at my head repeatedly. I simply defended myself. I wanted my brother dead, but not for the girl to see me deliver the death blow. I don't know why. The King shouted for the madness to end. I dropped to a knee, almost getting my head lopped off. Gregor snorted and glowered at King Robert for a moment, then flung his sword down and stomped away. Then that simpering, mincing idiot had the nerve to come out and name me champion. Everyone applauded him, nobles and commons, and my lady, the girl I had done something so stupid for, clapped loudest and smiled for the 'gallant knight.' I risked my life to save her knight, and I was still nothing to her. I had nothing but forty-thousand gold dragons. But I took it and pissed it away on Dornish sour and pretty red-haired whores.”

Sansa stood and quickly walked away toward the huts where women stayed when they came. She could not stand to listen to more. Why didn't he ever say any of these things? Would it have mattered if he had told her he was hers? Was he hers? He was here, the Hound. It was no longer a guess. He said things that only the Hound would know. She never spoke of the night he'd escorted her to the Red Keep to anyone for any reason.

She sank down at the table in her cabin after shutting the door softly. She wished there was a latch. She tried to block out what she had heard. She should not know such things. She sat and rocked in the chair. She reached into her dress pocket, removing the handkerchief that had dabbed the blood from her lip when she had thought of shoving Joffrey over the ledge. She pressed it to her wet eyes. She stayed inside the rest of the afternoon, unable to stop the flood of memories, wondering how she could have been so blind. 

The light of day was fading when there was a soft knock at her door. Thinking it was Sandor come to light a fire for her and then escort her back to the hall for supper, she called out.

"Come in."

She placed the handkerchief on the table when she saw it wasn't whom she had thought it was.

"Sansa Stark. The Queen Regent has offered a Lordly reward for your return to Kings Landing to face justice."


	6. Sandor III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had all seemed _so_ simple...

Sandor fell into a brooding quiet. He sank heavily into a chair. He picked up the cup and tipped it back, longing for the powerful flavor of undiluted Dornish sour, instead of watered down ale. He had never thought to see his little bird again. She had been married to a Lannister and stolen by one of the most diabolical men in the Kingdom.

“Sandor, why did you come to me? Why speak of her now?”

Sandor shrugged, taking another drink of watered ale.

“You do not ask advice, but you shall hear it just the same. Serving the seven requires complete devotion. Serving the Gods is a service for one's heart. Can you give your heart to the Gods?”

He stood and wrapped his face with the scarf. He grunted, pulling the hood over his head.

“See to your duties, and please think closely on the choice you are about to make. Chose what matters more, the duty you owe to yourself or the duty that you owe to her. Mayhaps they are more similar than you imagine.”

Sandor walked off to see to his duties. He avoided the others when he saw them, opting to wander the north shore of the island to search for anything the river might have chanced to bring to the island. Nothing of real value had come for several days. 

He kicked a seashell into the ocean and wandered toward the sea facing side of the island. He thought about all the times he had followed the little bird when he was on his own time and drunk, to make sure nothing hurt her. He remembered when he placed his sword against her throat the first time. He had told her that as long as he had his sword. There was no man he needed to fear, even though he had feared with his sword on his person. Feared for her.

He sank down in the sand, looking toward the little alcove in which one of the weirwoods grew with its red eyes and mouth. He looked toward the side of the island where the little bird was staying in her hut. He wondered if she had seen her odd northern tree. She had spent so much time in the Godswood at the Red Keep after her father was killed.

He remembered the first time he held her in his arms—when she collapsed to her knees after the blond shit had her father's head hacked off in front of her on the steps of Baelor's Sept. She had fainted when Eddard Stark's legs began to kick. He had carried her back to Maegor's and placed her on her bed. She had been so tiny and broken. He had twisted a strand of her pretty hair around his finger, marveling at its softness and pretty color. She would never have allowed such a touch if she was awake. She wanted nothing to do with him, and he had never harmed her. He knew then that he would do what he could to help her. No one really tried to help him. He made a promise to himself that he would help her as he was able.

It was a week or thereabouts after the death of Lord Eddard Stark that he took her in his arms again. Joffrey had wanted her look pretty and attend him in court and chirp her pretty songs, instead of crying in bed. He had been gentle but forceful with her. Her wonderful knights would have injured her without qualm if ordered. Better for him to bully her a little than for the _merciful_ king to set more vicious creatures upon the defenseless bird. Better for him to be gruff with her than to see her beaten.

He lifted up on his legs as he saw a bag caught on a rock near the shore. He walked stiffly to the bag, having to step down into the freezing water a little. He tugged at the strings and found it was full of lemons. He clutched the bag. Lemon cakes might please the little bird. She always ate them well and licked her fingers afterward.

He had wanted to save the little bird so many times, but there had always been dozens of city guards and knights of the Kingsguard. He could best any of them singlehandedly and likely in succession, and they knew that as well as he did. But he was no match for all of them together; they knew that too. He had tried pitifully to make the boy stop once. He had been told that he was wrong. He remembered in that moment, wondering if it was better to live for his little bird or die for his little bird. If he died, no one would try to help her. His death would not help her. She would be truly alone. Then that damn Imp had done what he had been unable to do. But he could give her his cloak. He remembered dropping it over her shoulders the instant he was free to do so. He felt a twinge, thinking how much better it would have been had it been yellow with three black dogs on it and it was in a sept after saying vows—she would never want such a thing from him, and had donned the red and gold of house Lannister already. But she had not consummated it...he growled at himself. She would not want a cloak with Clegane colors.

He went to save her, to take her away. He had the foul stench of alcohol and blood on him and been asleep in her bed, immersed in her sweet smell. There was nothing he could have done about the latter smell. There was a brutal battle being waged while a river burned. She was supposed to say yes, throwing herself into his arms, but she didn't. She was supposed to leave the city with him, and he left her behind. It had all seemed _so_ simple in his drunken dreams. He would take her to her family. The Stark boy would have asked him what he wished for, and he would ask to be by her side, and she would be happy and kiss him. Then no one would ever be able to hurt her again. But they were all dead now, and she was under the influence of Baelish, one of the most disgusting men to ever grace the seven kingdoms with his repugnant presence. The man who led Stark to believe he was safe when he walked into the mouth of a lion.

It was late in the afternoon as he walked toward the kitchen area. The cook could make lemon cakes for his little bird. She liked those, and he would take them to her. He would remove his scarf. He would let her have the choice. He could not kidnap her or make her his hostage. She had been a captive for too long to too many bad people. He would be good to her, take her anywhere she would wish to go. She would be safe. If she said no—surely, she would not say no this time. All the stories she chirped were about the dog and little bird. That had to mean something. It had to. 

He set the lemons down on the table and took a seat to ease the pain in his thigh. The proctor in charge of the kitchens came over and smiled at the lemons.

“Lemon cakes are a favorite of Elder Brother, and I am sure everyone else will enjoy the treat as well.”

Sandor nodded, thinking about the little bird again. Lysa Arryn was dead. Edmure Tully was a hostage. All her brothers were dead, the oldest courtesy of Lord Walder and the younger two thanks to Theon Greyjoy. He remembered the nasty, all too easily occurring smile that splashed across the boy's face in the time he spent in Winterfell. With the Boltons now leading the North, where could he take the little bird? This was as safe a place for her as anywhere, especially with winter beginning. But if someone found out she was here, she could be in trouble. The whole group of them could be in trouble.

He rose to his feet after the cakes were completed and drizzled with a sugar glaze. He took the tray for the little bird, placing dark bread, hard yellow cheese, and a meat and vegetable stew on it next to the two lemon cakes.

He started the walk down to the little bird's house. Would she be happy or sad to see him?

“We've got the little bitch.”

Sandor stopped at the voice. He slid into the thin alcove of trees, as his eyes picked up the shape of three people slipping toward shore. One of them was small, wearing a dress, and had her wrists bound tightly. She marched with the tip of a sword at her back.


	7. Sansa and Sandor IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The taller man behind her reached out, closing a hand around her neck.

Sansa bit her lip as she felt the point of the sword at her back. They were going to take her to the queen. She would be beheaded, like father. She felt tears in her eyes and glanced back over her shoulder. She hadn't known about the poisoned stones of the hairnet. She hadn't known that Petyr Baelish had plotted with Olenna Tyrell to kill Joffrey. Would she have helped them willingly if she had known? She had wanted to kill Joffrey and had been stopped from pushing him into the dry moat surrounding Maegor's.

“Move, Lady Kingslayer.”

“I'm Alayne Stone. Lord Petyr's natural daughter. I am not the Sansa that you are looking for.” Sansa said, looking at the pathetic mousy man. She had tears in her eyes.

“Yes. And I'm Lord Tywin, and this here is the Young Wolf, come back to life.” Ser Shadrich said. He sheathed his sword.

Sansa quivered as she was shoved toward a boat. She looked around desperately. She caught a glimpse of a weirwood's face with its blood red leaves. Her eyes met with its queer red eyes, and she said a silent prayer for the only man who wanted to save her to come.

“I'm not who you are looking for—please let me go.”

The taller man behind her reached out, closing a hand around her neck.

He lifted her into the air.

Sansa kicked the air a little, raising her bound hands to his wrist. She scrabbled at them with her nails, gasping for breath.

“Don't hurt her. The Queen wants her alive. She is worthless dead.”

“Making her unconscious will make her quieter.”

“S—San,” She stared at a large shape looming behind the small man. Her eyes were swimming, and her lungs begged for air as she was hoisted higher. “d—dor.”

A sudden scream shot through the air.

The man holding her brought the pommel of his sword down hard, cracking her on the head.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Sandor set the tray down quietly to not draw attention to himself. He drew his dagger as he approached the men stealing his little bird. They would not kill the little bird, but he would kill them.

His eyes darkened to a stormy gray as he heard her soft peeps and saw her lifted by her slender throat. He had not been able to save her earlier, but he could and would save her now. He should never have allowed her to be alone. Some of the time the last week, he would go and push her along gently with him while he went about his work. But he had left her for a day, and she had paid the price.

“San-dor—” he could see the recognition in her eyes as she pawed at the hand holding her. Her eyes were wide in the moonlight.

He almost roared his anger as she called to him. He told her that he would kill anyone who hurt her. He always told the truth.

Ser Shadrich whirled to face him, withdrawing his sword, but not fast enough. Sandor caught the hand holding the sword, preventing all movement of the limb as he wrenched it back. He shoved his dagger into the man's stomach, lifting him from the ground by his arm.

Thump. Splash. Sansa had been released, and Sandor's eyes were locked on the next man. That man would die for what he just did to the Little Bird.

Shadrich's intestines spilled as the knife was removed, and Sandor flung the tiny man out into the incoming tidal waters, claiming the man's weapon and spinning on his good leg to block the blow coming from the other knight. He flashed forward with the dagger, opening the knight's throat. Blood spurted out as the man fell back into the ocean.

“Little bird?” Sandor dropped to his knees, sheathing the dagger. He gathered her into his arms. He patted her cheek. She was shivering. “Pretty Bird?”

She did not respond. He cradled her head in the crook of his arm, keeping her close on his lap as he ran his hand down her side.

“You'll be alright now.”

He kept the sword out as he moved away through the shallow, slushy water with the girl tossed over his shoulder. He wished he could keep her cradled more intimately against his chest where she would be more secure, but if Lothor Brune arrived, he would need to be able to fight. His leg ached a little, but he barely noticed it. She would not fall back into Petyr Baelish's slimy hands.

“I will save you, Little Bird. You are not going back to any cage.”

He ran a hand through her soaked hair and felt a stickiness. He had kept his word. He had killed the men who hurt her. Baelish was the cause of much of the little bird's pain. He was the reason Lord Stark believed he could win the game with the lions. He would tell her what Baelish did to her father. She should know the type of man with whom she had been consorting.

His eyes were dark as he looked into the red face of the heart tree. The words were on his lips as he remembered all her visits to the godswood.

“If anything happens to her, I will burn every last one of you. I will not stop until you are destroyed. You will have failed her for the last time.” Sandor removed his cloak and scarf, wrapping them around the little bird. He placed her down beneath the heart tree. He pressed his nose to her temple briefly. “I will kill anyone who hurts you.”

He breathed heavily rising and turning to toward the coming lights.

“Brother Sandor?”

Sandor's eyes were dark as he lifted his sword toward the men standing there, prepared to fight to defend Sansa.

Elder Brother stood there with two other brothers on either side of him. His eyes were calm. He put his arms out to block the other brothers.

Sandor moved menacingly toward them.

“Where is Baelish and his little friend?” He shook the sword at them, causing some of the blood already on it to splatter the snow.

“They left earlier this afternoon. He said he had business in Kings Landing. Is the young lady?” Elder Brother stared at Sansa's prone, shivering body.

“Those shits Baelish had working for him did this. They were going to take her to someone who will kill her for no reason other than spite and hatred. I won't let anyone hurt her.” Sandor kept the sword leveled at the men.

“We are not armed, Sandor. We are not going to do her harm. She needs that cut on her head tended. She needs to get warm. Please, I will only tend her injuries. I will not hurt your lady. You know that I do not harm people.”

“If any harm comes to her, I'll kill you.”

Sandor lowered the sword, finally turning it away from them. He slipped it into a place between his hip and the belt he wore. Sandor knelt, carefully gathering her into his arms. She fit in them perfectly with her head resting on and supported by his right shoulder. He would stay with her till she woke.


	8. Elder Brother I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He felt like an intruder.

“Brother Sandor, this is not--”

Sandor Clegane turned to him with a growl on his lips. For a moment, he knew what it must have been like for the men who dared to meet the Hound in open battle or even among the lists. But he did not withdraw.

“Turn your head away,” Sandor rasped, cradling the petite young woman as if she was the most fragile song bird kept for her song in the long winter. The large, and still sometimes harsh, man had given his cowl to keep her warm and risked his life to defend hers.

“Let me get a good look at her forehead, Brother Sandor.” Elder Brother spoke as gently as he could, seeing the protective way the powerful, and armed, man pulled the pretty woman away from him.

“She needs out of her wet clothes. She does not need to be leered at by anyone.” He knelt on the floor, holding her in his lap.

Sandor curled around her, blocking her from view and keeping his back to the others. Wet clothes were cast to the floor as he peeked back over his shoulder to make sure that none of the brothers were trying to eye the young woman.

Elder Brother turned around slowly, motioning to the other brother with him to do the same. He considered objecting to the large man stripping her, but it seemed a poor time to broach such a subject. He had not been so prickly since he first arrived at the monastery. This was undoubtedly the young woman Sandor had begun speaking of so recently, Sansa Stark. Poor Lady Brienne had missed them by such a small portion of time. He would send out a brother to convey the message to her.

The slaps of more wet pieces of clothing hitting the floor and chattering of teeth and dripping of water and crackling of the fire filled the air before a soft rustling of blankets. He heard also the clunk of a sword and more clothes being removed.

“May I take a look at her head?” Elder Brother asked, not turning to look.

More rustling blankets. “She is covered.”

He turned back and had to swallow his urge to chastise Sandor. It was not appropriate. Such things were not allowed on the Quiet Isle between unmarried persons. What they did on their own was their business. He moved quickly to the pair, searching for the correct words to coax Sandor away.

Sandor was curled in the bed with one arm wrapped around her shoulders so her head rested on it. The other petted her neck resting on top of the blanket after fanning her hair out. He was pressed close to the young lady, and his tunic and breeches were strewn on the floor.

“Brother Sandor--”

“She's freezing,” Sandor rasped, not taking his eyes from her face. “See to her cut.”

Elder Brother bit his tongue as he knelt and brushed her hair back. He could not allow them to stay the night alone like this.

“The cut is shallow, but it should still be cleaned. She is going to have a nice bump there for a few days.”

Sandor frowned and rubbed his thumb over her cheek, tugging her a little closer. She was still so pale, though her shivering had eased.

Elder Brother nodded as another brother arrived with a bowl of hot water and a flagon of wine.

Sandor curled his arms around her more tightly as the small young man approached. His lip curled ferociously, and the burned side of his mouth twitched a little. His senses seemed as focused on the young man as a hound hunting a fox.

A soft noise emanated from the sweet creature in his arms, redirecting his attention.

He moved a hand to her hair and combed his large fingers through it. His eyes were soft and slightly pained for a moment as if he was recalling a memory or contemplating or daydreaming. He placed his cheek on top of her head, pressing slightly closer. He draped himself over her partially to still her shivering and share his warmth.

Elder Brother took the bowl and glanced up for a moment.

"A cloth?”

The young man turned to race back up the hill to get one, but stopped, moving to the table. He returned, handing down a piece of white fabric.

Elder Brother dipped the fabric into the slightly steaming water and gently wiped the grime and dried and drying blood from her face. He gently disinfected the area and wiped it again after dipping the cloth into a steaming water.

Sandor's eyes locked on it, watching it carefully. He seemed to recognize it.

“Brother Sandor, the young lady is sufficiently--”

Twin gray eyes glowered at him as the large arms curled about the young woman possessively. Elder Brother felt reminded of a dog, jealously guarding a scrap of meat after being starved and kicked and chained. A dark growl came from his throat.

“I will remain the night here with you both.”

Sandor settled without response, petting her cheek and adjusting her to rest comfortably with her back to him. He rested one hand on her hip atop the blanket, pressing his nose into her hair. He settled comfortably.

She murmured softly as if she was trying to wake, but all she did was press back to the large scarred chest at her back.

Elder Brother sat quietly. He had never seen such a look of peace on Sandor's face.

Sandor stroked the young woman's hair, sliding his hands over her neck. He shifted her to her back so his body could comfortably drape softly across hers again, keeping her where he had placed her.

“Brother--”

“I'm wearing small clothes,” he growled, not lifting his gaze from the delicate face. "So is she."

Elder Brother went silent again. He felt like an intruder. But it would be entirely unacceptable to leave the two of them on their own. The young woman might even require more attention when she woke. Who knew how she would react to Sandor, even knowing him? It had not sounded as if their relationship had been entirely positive from what she had told him and what Sandor had shared.

Sandor was obviously not disposed to be communicative. How the other brothers looked upon the icons of the Gods, Brother Sandor reverently gazed upon the young woman. He seemed to almost be worshiping her. How had he not seen this since her arrival? He had always seen Sandor's loyalty and devotion lay somewhere other than with the Seven. But he never thought it to be something like this. He had kept this so hidden away. Yet, it was natural. Only men of wicked perversions or truly dedicated to the Seven would be able to deny their heart from yearning for a warm female's touch. Sandor was very much a man, and not a servant of the Seven.

The attachment was clear on his part, and the loyalty and strength of the bond was unquestionable. It was a vow without the words. He stared at her for hours, murmuring soft words that were inaudible as he petted her face and hair, settling his head onto the pillow close to hers. He started to blink his eyes more slowly and rapidly, before reaching out to grasp the hilt of the sword to drag it closer to be within easy reach if the need for it arose.

Elder Brother shifted, pushing his chair back a few inches.

Sandor jerked, raising the sword as his eyes flashed furiously. He was on his feet with the injured young lady behind him. He glowered at Elder Brother who gazed away. He heard some restless footsteps and then the rustling of some fabric. He heard more rustling and chanced a brief glance in their direction.

Sandor had settled down with the young woman again, tucking her on the opposite side from the door. He had arranged one arm around her, and her cheek rested on his shoulder. One of her arms was above the blanket now, resting across a flat, muscular stomach. She was also now in a shift. Gentle, strong fingers rubbed the nape of the woman's neck, and twisted tendrils of her hair between them.

“I saved you,” Sandor rasped softly. "I saved you."

It took him hours to settle again, finally spooning his body around hers again, blocking her body from the view of the rest of the room. He seemed to drift off finally.

Elder Brother stayed quiet, and did not even shift the chair around. He found himself gazing at them quietly, recalling words from _The Seven Pointed Star_ , about when the Seven had walked the land so long ago.

The first reddish pink glow of sunshine was lighting the cabin when a stirring motion caught his eye. He rose to his feet and looked over at the pair, preparing for a possible scene.

The young lady was shifting about, and had taken Sandor's hand, tugging it softly from where it rested on her hip. She met some slight resistance, but eventually tucked the hand and arm entirely around her. She wiggled about till she was facing him.

Elder Brother walked quietly from the cabin. He would get them some breakfast. It might be best to give them a little time to work out everything. He did not want to intrude on their privacy while they were awake. And with the sun up, passions of the flesh numbed somewhat according to _The Seven Pointed Star_.


	9. Sansa V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if he forgot all about the kiss?

Sansa shifted close to the warmth, wondering why she had not locked the door to keep Sweetrobin out. At least he was not slobbering over her breasts. She rolled over to face him, loathe as she was to deal with the pesky brat.

She had been having a dream. It had been about a man who saved her from a mob, with a blade that hacked and sliced her attackers. He had worn a white cloak that he later gave to her when a king stripped her in court.

His arms loosened a bit, and he shifted a little away. 

She opened her eyes and gasped loudly, pulling back. She stared at the face beside her. Her arms rested against his chest, and her cheek was on his arm. For a moment, she was dragged back to the cold night air, a hand around her throat, and furious face appearing from the night to save her. _Get her a dog._

"You saved me." She stared at him, shifting a little back to see him better. She never believed that she would see him again.

Sandor jerked away from her. His eyes were open and harsh again. He shifted on the straw mattress.

Sansa reached out as she saw his eyes flash. Her hand touched his shoulder, rubbing softly by moving her thumb in a circle. His skin was hot, and the muscles seemed to relax slowly as she continued rubbing softly.

"Don't go."

Sandor remained silent and unmoving. His muscles tensed and relaxed alternately under her fingers.

"Don't leave me." Sansa whispered, staring at his back and brushing her thumb over his shoulders. She traced a finger over the base of his neck.

His back was a criss-crossing patchwork of scars. His muscles flexed and relaxed alternately. His shoulders were broad and powerful. His arms easily looked to be thrice the size of her own if not greater. There was something to be said for him physically. He saved her. It had to mean something.

She traced a finger over a scar on the top of his shoulder. She should look away. It wasn't appropriate to gaze upon a partially unclothed male who was not her husband. She knew that, but she kept watching his muscles.

His black hair hung to his just below his shoulders at its longest. She slid a finger out to touch it. It was softer than she had thought it would be. She teasingly twisted it softly, thinking about a second kiss she could give to Sandor. He saved her.

He shifted eventually away from her touch gently. He stood and walked toward the door of the cabin.

Sansa moved, scanning her eyes over his body. She blushed, realizing that he was wearing only small clothes. She followed him.

"Little Bird-"

"You saved me," Sansa said, worrying her lower lip for a moment and shifting restlessly.

"Aye." Sandor pulled on his trousers and laced them, turning toward her.

Sansa nodded, looking down with a blush and playing with her shift. She remembered the kiss again, and rocked on her feet. Would he take another kiss? Did she want to kiss him again? It had been so long. What if he forgot all about the kiss? What if it had been a bad kiss for him?

The heavy footfalls startled her out of her thoughts.

"Wait."

Sandor turned to her. His eyes were dark as he lowered his chin to look down at her.

Sansa stared into his face.

"What do you wish to chirp now, Little Bird?"

She blinked and sighed, gazing up at him. She pouted softly pushing her lips out as she tipped her head to the side.

He breathed out heavily like a winded war horse. His eyes scanned her face slowly.

She stepped closer to him, looking over his face and trying not to think about how he was mostly naked. She stared at his lips, at the scar tissue around one side and the soft look of the other, remembering what they felt like on her own. She licked her lips. She reached a hand toward his face, sliding it up along his cheek. She stepped closer to him, pulling his face down toward her own.


	10. Sandor V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “To take a piss. Want to come along?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my reviewers and readers. I very much appreciate the feedback.

Sandor leaned down as he felt a soft tug on his shirt from her little hands. She pressed closer to him. He could feel her teats pressing against his chest and her arms resting against him.

She leaned toward him and pressed her lips to his cheek. Her fingers teased over his chin on both sides and down his neck. Her small nose rubbed his cheek as she pulled back, sliding her arms around his neck. She touched her cheek to his, dipping a hand into his hair before withdrawing slowly. She gazed up at him, her hands having to slide from the back of his neck to his chin as she sank down from her tiptoes, and he straightened his posture.

Sandor gazed down at her with his head slightly tilted to the side. He stared at her pink lips as she rubbed them together. Used to be that he could cut off a man's arm to save her from being raped and killed, and she would not look at him. She would just tremble at his image when he never treated her roughly. Now, she would not look away. She just kissed his cheek, hugged him, pressed her cheek to his, and held his face-both sides.

Sansa cradled his face softly before sliding her hands down his chest to rest over his heart for a moment.

His breathing quickened and became a little shallow as he looked at her hands. What was she planning? She was touching him. She had cradled his cheek and touched his shoulder in Kings Landing. He had held her in his arms only a small number of times. She was so tiny and fit in them perfectly. The only thing that would have improved the times he had been able to hold her would have been her holding him back.

“Thank you for saving me, my Lord.” Sansa let her arms continue to rest on him.

Sandor stared at her hands, wondering what would happen if he wrapped his arms around her. He had never thought of initiating a kiss with her before. She was so lovely, and he was so not lovely.

“Not a lord. I told you that I would not let anyone hurt you,” he said, stepping back. He raised a hand and touched a strand of hair that had fallen in her face. He slid his fingers down the length of it, twisting it a little before he tucked it behind her ear. She looked so much more lovely without her hair mostly hanging loose.

Knock. Knock.

He turned to find out who was at the door. He needed a moment away from her bright blue eyes watching him so softly. He had to think of a safe place for her. He would ask her where she wished to go and determine where would be safest. He did not want to force her to go, but she had to go somewhere safe.

“Good Morning.” Elder Brother stepped through the door, carrying a tray with two bowls of porridge, hard bread, and two little fish.

Sansa squeaked a little.

Sandor turned to her. She was only wearing a shift. The cold air was making her nipples hard. He forced his attention away from her perfect teats, grabbing her dress. He moved toward her, holding the dress out. He heard how heavy his breathing was and clenched his teeth at the strength of his desire to take her close and put her on the mattress. He could not help wondering what it would be like to kiss her and caress her bare skin while she wiggled and pressed close to him. It would never happen, but it would be wonderful if it did. He gritted his teeth. He thought he had gotten rid of such thoughts about her.

“Get dressed,” he said, looking at a point over her head. Why had she done that, all that snuggling and hugging? He wanted her again. Did she know what she did to men? Did she revel in the power? 

Sansa pulled the dress on quickly and laced it up. She kept glancing back and forth between him and the lacings. She did not look scared. She seemed pleased in some way by his presence.

Did she think she was giving the dog a treat, kissing him on the cheek? He gazed down at her lips for a moment. He wondered what a kiss from her soft looking lips would feel like against his own. He had never kissed a woman on the lips or been given such a kiss. No woman had ever wanted such with him, and why would they? Why did she?

He turned from her. She had no enemies here, but it might be wise to go kill Baelish and his knightly friend. The fewer people who knew where she was, the better. It would even be prudent to remove her from the Quiet Isle. 

There was one place he could think to take her. He did not know if she would be safer here or there. There was always the problem of getting there, especially with all the thieving outlaws. The chances of Baelish and Brune escaping un-captured was somewhat laughable if they were travelling by land. Either one would sell Sansa out in half a heartbeat if they thought it would save their own skin.

He went to the door again. He needed a few minutes.

“Sandor.” Sansa called, her voice inflecting upward in a soft nearly pleading way that caught slightly. “Where—where are you going?”

Sandor looked over his shoulder at her, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. He was not leaving her.

“To take a piss. Want to come along?”

He looked down at her and saw her biting her lower lip. Her eyes were a little bright as well as her cheeks pinkened.

She was not trusting him. He felt a stab of irritation, at her and himself, thinking that she might have a reason to distrust him at the moment. The last time she knew she saw him—he had been frightening. It hadn't been intentional. He had planned running away with her over and over in his drunken mind. She had always said yes in his imagination, and then in reality—Elder Brother's voice snapped through him.

“Brother Sandor, your language.” Elder Brother admonished.

Sandor bit back a snarl to the other man. He did not need a lecture. He already felt guilty at seeing her shift her delicate body and look away from his face.

Sansa blushed a little and looked away for a moment, before looking back at him.

“I will be back in just a few minutes, Litt—my Lady,” he said, turning and searching her eyes. “You're safe.”

Her eyes remained bright as she peaked up at him, forcing a sad smile.

What did she want from him? She looked like she had more to say, but she gazed past him at Elder Brother.

She stepped up close and wrapped her arms around his chest briefly.

Sandor looked down at her. She gazed up at him and gave a soft squeeze, not that she was capable of much more than a soft squeeze. She stepped back and tucked her hands behind her back. She was soft and perfect. He tucked a strand of her hair back again.

“I will be right back, Li—my Lady.”

Sandor turned from her gaze, leaving quickly and shutting the door behind him.


	11. Elder Brother II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She pressed her lips together as a few more tears leaked from her eyes, restraining her happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my readers and reviewers.

“You are Sansa Stark,” Elder Brother said, carrying the tray to the table. “Please eat. You must be hungry after your ordeal.”

She went to the table and sat down. She took the napkin covering a bowl of porridge and placed it on her lap. She glanced toward the window even though the shutters were closed. She closed her eyes, letting out a stifled breath.

“My Lady, are you familiar with Lady Brienne of Tarth?” he ventured as she added a little bit of butter to the porridge.

Sansa shook her head, pouring a cup of water and taking a sip. She glanced at the closed window again as she cut a small piece of butter with her spoon. She moved her spoon through the porridge slowly, staring at it as the butter melted.

“Lady Brienne said that she served your mother, Lady Catelyn Stark.” Elder Brother spoke softly, watching the broken girl. “She is a warrior maiden. I believe her to be an honest woman.”

“I am unfamiliar with Lady Brienne. My mother died when I was born, and I am only the bastard daughter of Lord Petyr Baelish.” She stirred the porridge more in different patterns. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Brother Sandor has confirmed your identity, my Lady. No one on this isle will bring you harm.” Elder Brother said, and he added a log to the fire. Sandor would chop them to bits if they tried. He had already shown how dangerously serious he was when defending the pretty woman.

Bang. Sansa gave a small cry and jumped, looking toward the door. A soft smile lit her face.

Sandor shut the door more loudly than was necessary and moved to stand close to her.

She gazed up at him, shifting and sitting up a little straighter as she spoke. She set her spoon down.

“You must be eager to break your fast, Se—Sandor. Please join me.” She made a soft gesture to the seat across from her. She had a look of soft earnestness and shy pleasure at the presence of the large, intimidating man.

Elder Brother shook his head, observing Sandor, whose attention focused on everything and anything in the hut that was not the young lady. Sandor took a heavy seat in the chair on the other side of the table. He took his spoon and gazed at her for a moment.

Sansa was looking down at her porridge, and stirring it a little as if she had a great deal to say or ask but did not wish to speak in front of all the company. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, lifting the spoon to her lips quickly and eating a small bite from the end of the spoon.

“My Lady,” Elder Brother said, calling her attention back to him.

Sansa turned her attention to him, putting her spoon down. She raised her chin, taking a deep breath as her eyes cut briefly toward Sandor.

“My Lady, as I was saying, I have sent one of the brothers out to seek Lady Brienne. She has been searching for you, claiming she served your lady mother. I am in no doubt about her earnestness to seek and protect you and your sister.”

“Arya? Arya is alive?” Sansa asked, her voice choking a little. “My sister lives?”

“Yes, Lady Sansa,” Sandor spoke up. His cheek muscle on the burned side was twitching slightly.

The young woman's breathing hitched, and she covered her mouth as she gazed up at him. Tears sprang to her eyes as she began to shake with her sobs.

“Where is she?” Sansa asked, staring at him as the tears flowed. She reached for the handkerchief on the table. She wiped her eyes, sucking in a deep, hissing breath through her teeth to try to regain control of herself.

“Don't know. She abandoned me when I was injured after a fight in a tavern,” Sandor said. “But if I know anything about that wolf-bi—she is alive.”

“When did you last see her?” Sansa said, stiffening a little as if a flicker of anger had been ignited and quelled just as rapidly.

“Four moons past,” Sandor said, taking a bite of porridge.

Sansa closed her eyes, pressing her hands to her chest, clutching the piece of fabric. She rocked for a moment.

“Thank you, Sandor. Thank you.” She pressed her lips together as a few more tears leaked from her eyes, restraining her happiness.

Sandor focused on his meal while his cheek muscle twitched a little. He was clearly restraining his flow of conversation, though Elder Brother had heard bits of unpolished truth from his mouth about the time involving the younger Stark girl.

“Thank the Seven, and thank the Old Gods. I thought she was dead.” Her voice was soft and choked, and her eyes were closed as she spoke her thanks with her hands clutching the handkerchief and tucked to her chest over her heart.

“I imagine Lady Brienne will wish to enter your service, my Lady. She will assuredly be returning as soon as the brother finds her.”

Sansa cut her eyes to Sandor after glancing at the sword leaning on the table. She seemed to be hoping for his opinion about this Lady Brienne or perhaps him to swear himself to her, if Elder Brother were to make a guess. It seemed like a moment from one of the songs that young ladies enjoyed so well--and yet wholly different from them in other ways.

She reached for the loaf of bread. Her attention shifted immediately to Sandor as their hands touched. She lowered her chin to gaze up at him through her lashes. She dropped her hand softly.

“Pardons, my Lord.”

“Not a Lord,” Sandor growled, placing the bread down untouched.

“I will leave the two of you for a moment.” Elder Brother walked quietly to the door. He could not resist adding. “I am sure that you have much to discuss. Perhaps the two of you might take a walk or a ride during your discussions.”

It would be improper for them to remain sequestered here in privacy for the entire day, regardless of what _The Seven Pointed Star_ said of quelled physical passions when the sun shone. He bowed his head softly and left, pulling the door shut behind him. The surest way to avoid falling into sin was to avoid the temptation, and there was less doubt about the esteem in which she held Sandor than the affection Sandor felt toward her. He glanced back at them as he opened the door.

Neither was looking at the other, and the bread was unbroken between them.


	12. Sansa VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're learning, Little Bird."

Sansa barely ate any of the food that had been brought for her to break her fast. She kept glancing at Sandor and wondering what to say. She had so many questions for him. Why had he kissed her the night of Blackwater? Did he want to kiss her again? Did she want to kiss him again? Did he think about that night? He must on some level. He had tears in his eyes when she sang to him again. Why was he drunk so often during his last few months in the Red Keep? Why had he come to save her? What did they do now? Could they stay here with Petyr out there knowing where she was? Did Petyr know Sandor was alive? If so, was he, Sandor, going to stay with her or was he going to leave her again? How had he found Arya? Did he have any idea where she might have gone?

"We should take a walk as Elder Brother suggested, Little Bird." Sandor growled gently.

She looked up at him and placed her still mostly full bowl of porridge on the tray with her water glass. She left the loaf of bread on the table.

Sandor took the tray after sliding the sword through his belt and putting on his robe. He pulled the hood up and tossed her cloak to her.

She draped the heavy wool and fur cloak over her shoulders. She reached up and tied it.

They walked quickly to the kitchens to leave the tray, then headed out toward the shoreline where they could see the remnants of Saltpans.

Sansa walked slowly at his side, holding her skirt and watching her footsteps carefully on the stony area they were walking over. If she glanced around, she could see brothers at work. What was she supposed to say to him? So many of her questions would be rude and personal, and she did not want to move him to anger. She did not want to hurt his feelings or incite him to leave her. He had saved her. She always tried to be kind to him, even when he would throw it in her face. It was who she was, but if her chirping annoyed him, he might leave her. She had to determine how to please him in some way.

“Little Bird, we can't stay here.” Sandor stated, offering her his hand at a treacherously steep area.

Sansa looked up at him. She took his hand in both of hers for a moment. He had never offered her his hand or arm before. She felt a rush of warmth. He had taken her arm to move her about, but never _offered_ it. His palm was rough, probably from all the sword fighting, real and practice.

Sandor growled a little. Sansa kept a tight hold on his hand. He had never hit her.

“Baelish knows you are here. And he will continue to try to use you for his own purposes. Is that what you want? Or do you want to be free to make your own decisions?” he asked, trying to withdraw his hand from hers.

Sansa bit her lip, wrapping her fingers through his more securely now that she was down on a sandy stretch of beach. She reached over, placing her other hand in the crook of his large arm to hold it close to her chest. She could feel the power in it and experienced a surge of gratitude for how he had never hit her. He never was rough with anything, except his tongue. She could tell he was stronger than the other members of the Kingsguard just as he was easily taller than any of them. She stroked her fingers lightly over his arm.

“Might be he knows that I am here as well. I doubt it. Like most people, Baelish can see what he wants when he chooses.”

“What do we do then?” Sansa asked. She rested her cheek on his arm for a moment. She was not afraid of him. She wanted him to know. She knew that they had to leave as soon as it was clear who she was. But she had no idea where she could go. “Winterfell was burned down after Theon killed Bran and Rickon. The Lannisters are in control of everything except the North. Moat Cailin is controlled by the Ironborn.”

“I was not thinking of taking you north. Winter is here. You would be a bigger prize there than here. And they are more likely to know you,” Sandor growled. His muscles flexed under her hand, and he tucked his arm closer to himself as if trying to withdraw it a little.

Not wishing to release her hold just yet, Sansa stepped closer to Sandor. She slid her hand from his up to grip his arm.

“So now I am your prisoner?” Sansa asked. She bit back her myriad of other questions. The one she chose was probably just as stupid, but the less she chirped. She had thought of it so often—what happened to him when he left Kings Landing? Why had he wanted to take her? She still wondered if she made the right decision.

“No, Little Bird, you're not my captive.” Sandor said, kicking a shell into the water. His fingers clenched and unclenched.

Sansa looked at the sword, hanging from his belt and then up at his face. Was this the part where he swore himself to her? If life was a song, it would be. However, he had never taken vows and despised those who had. It was something about him that was difficult to forget. He was not a knight, just the second son of an upstart house in the Westerlands. His grandfather had been Kennelmaster at the Rock. But he had also said he did not believe in the Seven before, and here he was in a monastery. He was changed somehow.

“Say what you want.” His voice held his typical bite of irritation that she remembered when she had been unable to speak to him that first time on the Kings Road traveling.

Sansa pressed her lips together to hold in the emotion. She had so much to say and so much to ask this man. But it was not polite to ask such things at this time. It might never be polite, no matter how badly she wanted the answers. Why did he always save her? Why did Joffrey never ask him to hit her? Why did he come drunk to her room? Why did he want to save her? Why did he steal a kiss and abandon her?

“I want to see Arya. And I want to see Jon Snow again. He's my brother. They're the only family that I have left. I want you to stay with me. I—I—” She cut off, glancing at his harsh mouth. How did she say what she wanted to say? She wanted him by her side. How did she ask about the kiss?

“The bastard?” Sandor asked.

“Yes, he is Lord Commander of the Wall now.” He was the only brother she had left, and she had never loved him as she should. 

“Stannis is at the Wall too. You would just be exchanging the Lannisters for Baratheons. And Stannis would marry you off in a hurry to ensure a valuable alliance.”

Sansa squeezed his arm. She knew it was true. Even if she reached the Wall, she would not be safe. She wanted Jon and Arya, and both were impossible. She would love them better now, better than before. “Where can we go? My Uncle Edmure is a captive of the Lannisters.” The last time she felt so safe was when she was sitting behind the Hound on a horse galloping toward the Red Keep during the Bread Riot in Kings Landing. Sandor would not hurt her. She needed him.

“There is only one place I can think of where you would be safe. No one would look for either of us there, but it is risky to go there.”

“Where?” Sansa asked. “I want to stay here. But Lord Petyr is in some ways far more frightening than the Queen could ever hope to be. He is much more devious than she is.”

Sandor looked around as if suspecting that there might be people listening to their conversation. “You're learning, Little Bird. Baelish would sell you out the instant he believes it is of the most benefit to him, just the way he did to your father.”

“My father?” Sansa asked, stopping and tugging hard on his arm. “What do you mean?” What had Petyr had to do with anything involving her father? They had been on the Stupid, Fat King's Council together. They had to have known each other. She remembered seeing them talk together on occasion, and even remembered his advice the day she had seen her father sitting the Iron Throne.

“I mean, Little Bird, that he sold your father out. I told you, everyone in the Keep was a liar. Every one of them lied better than you. Baelish lies better than most any other.”

“Tell me what he did if you know.” She gazed up at him. With whom had she been associating all this time? She knew that Petyr was an accomplished liar and skilled player in the Game of Thrones.

“Once you know, you can never go back to not knowing.” Sandor said, helping Sansa up the steep path toward the paddock for the horses.

“Tell me.”

“Your father thought he was safe when all he had done was all but write 'Execute me.' in a letter he was sending to Stannis. He thought he had the City Watch, because Baelish let him think so. I was with the Queen when Baelish came to sell Lord Stark out. I was in the throne room when he came to confront them.”

Sansa held her companion's arm more firmly and gazed up at him. He looked down into her eyes. Petyr had betrayed her father. He knew what he was doing and did it anyway.

“He pulled a dagger on your father and got him sent to the black cells in the lower parts of the Red Keep.”

Sansa covered her mouth to stifle her cry. Joffrey had been able to execute her father, kill her father's men, take her hostage and mistreat her cruelly, because Lord Petyr had sold him out. Lord Petyr who had come and gone quite freely in her father's presence. Her father had seemed to trust the man, and he sold him out. She had been with the man who had made possible her father's execution. He let her think him a friend. He had encouraged her aunt to poison Jon Arryn, if her aunt's mad, drunken ramblings were to be believed. He had said such secrets Sansa need not know. He had kissed her after building a snow castle. His kiss was why her aunt tried to kill her, then he had pushed her aunt through the moon door. He arranged her marriage to Harry the Heir, which would have united the Riverlands, the North, and the Vale upon Robert Arryn's death—which he had purposefully accelerated with all the sweet sleep. He all but swung the blade that decapitated her father. She had thought of him as her friend while he had plunged daggers into the backs of her family members. He might even have had a hand in the Red Wedding, where her mother and Robb were killed. Nothing was too sinister to be below him. He was a mastermind of so much.

“I didn't want to hurt you, Little Bird.”

“I'm glad you told me,” Sansa said, blinking her eyes against the stinging sensation of the tears. She pulled away from him, the words of the Queen ringing through her memory the night Blackwater burned, the night Sandor Clegane kissed her and offered to save her, _'Tears are not a woman's only weapon.'_ Petyr had said such weapons were only effective for so long as a woman's beauty held. And Sandor would see right through it anyway. She did not even know if she truly wanted to kiss him again. He had taken the first kiss.

She looked up at him. He had kissed her. He wanted to take her with him when he left. Did that mean he wanted her as a man desires a woman? He had talked of redheaded whores. Her hair had been red then. It was growing out to be her natural auburn, and the dye was starting to wash out some as well. Should she use _the weapon between her legs_ as the Queen had suggested? She stared at his cruel mouth.

Sandor could keep her safe. She did not doubt that—but what was his price? No matter how high, it would be worth it to be rid of Petyr Baelish. That bastard deserved to die horribly. She wanted Jon and Arya. Jon would know what to do. Arya would know too, but she was not like Arya. Arya escaped Kings Landing, while she had been trapped and forced to marry the Imp. She was just a stupid little bird. She wanted to cry, but she felt most of her tears of stress and fear had dried up a long time ago.

"What do I do?" she asked, taking a step toward him. Did she kiss him now? Would that make her like the Queen? She did not want to be like that horrible woman. "What do you want?"


	13. Sandor VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He'll never kiss you again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to all my readers and reviewers. I greatly appreciate the feedback.

Sandor took a step back to look down at her.

What did he want? What did she mean? What was she offering? Would she be his—if he asked. Could he have her? He wished he had a flagon of Dornish sour. At least, she was looking at him. She had not wanted him to leave for even a few moments to take a piss that morning.

She was so quiet. He wanted her to chirp a pretty little song because she wanted to sing for him. Not because he was holding a knife to her throat and feared for her life.

Her eyes were large and stabbing into him with a searching, hopeful look. He wanted her to look with pleasure on him—because it pleased her simply to be with him. Not pride at carefully honed courtesies.

She was twisting her hands a little before she wrapped her arms close, hugging herself. He wanted her to wrap her arms around his chest and hold him—because she felt safe and just wanted to be closer to him. Not terror after some bastard tried to rape and kill her.

He wanted—he wanted. He wanted her to let him protect her always with a real giving of his cloak. He would be able to keep her safe and happy as he could.

"Sandor?"

He looked down at his little bird. He looked at her pretty pink lips, her bright blue eyes, her pretty hair, and the lines of her body. She was quite feminine when he first met her, and was only more lovely now. He was still ugly.

"What do you want?" she repeated, tilting her head back. She stared at him. Her hands clutched her upper arms, locking her body off from his gaze and making her as inaccessible as he already new her to be to him.

He would give her what she wanted; he hoped it was what she wanted anyway. Maybe his ugly face was not so objectionable anymore.

"I want to take you somewhere where we will be safe, Little Bird."

She let out a breath she had been holding and released her hold on her arms as she spoke. She reached for his arm.

"Where?"

"Clegane Keep." Sandor said, offering his arm to her as her fingers brushed over it.

"How will we be safe there?" She pulled his arm close to her chest as they continued their slow walk. One hand rested in his elbow and the other on the middle of his upper arm.

"It is close to Casterly Rock. However, there are no Lannisters who can concern themselves with what is going on there right now. In all my years of service to the Lannisters, I never visited Clegane Keep, and they never visited there, which is only a day's ride away. They won't look for us there, Little Bird. Why would you go there? Why would I?"

"Won't it be dangerous traveling with all the outlaws?" Sansa asked. Her hand petted his arm softly up and down as they walked.

He breathed out heavily at the thought of those soft hands caressing him more intimately while he held her in his arms. His cock twitched at the thought of her beneath him in the center of a large bed. He would be gentle with her, and she would want him again. He shoved the stupid thought back. She would never want him in her bed. Her reaction this morning to seeing him there proved that. Even after he saved her a second time from certain death, she did not desire him. She wanted a handsome husband who spouted meaningless trivialities.

"I'll keep you safe, Little Bird." It was all he could offer her that she wanted. No matter how angry it made him, it would not change a damned thing. She would never desire him as he desired her. Beauties never love monsters. Monsters only took pretty creatures to own. But he would never be able to own her.

"I _know_ you won't hurt me or let anyone hurt me." She stared up at him with large blue eyes, and played with her hair a little. She looked like she wanted to speak more but opted to just squeeze his arm close.

He could take her there and keep her safe and taken care of until spring. Then he would take her north, if that was what she wanted, or across the narrow sea, wherever she wished to go, they would go. She could not go alone. She would need someone to keep her safe. It would put her life in danger. He could belong to her, if she would give nothing else. He had tried when Joffrey began beating her, but she had not wanted him. She seemed to want him now.

"Baelish will come back for you. If anyone finds out you are here, you will be in danger. Everyone here will be in danger. We are too close to Kings Landing here. Given your recent encounters with the Vale Lords, I think that is the wrong place to go."

Fear shone brightly in her eyes as he said Kings Landing. She hugged his arm more securely and twined her fingers through his.

Sandor pulled his arm closer to his side so her leg momentarily brushed his thigh. She made a soft little peep and pressed her cheek to his arm for a moment. No one was going to hurt her. She was with him. He looked down, preparing some sharp words for her fearful noise. His words caught in his throat and nearly made him cough.

She was smiling and had closed her eyes. She pressed his arm close to her, hiding behind it briefly. 

"No one will hurt you." Sandor let his hand move across his body rest on the hilt of the sword.

Her eyes darted to the steel on his right hip. She looked up into his eyes. Her face was soft, and her smile was gentle as it reached her eyes.

"I know you'll protect me," Sansa said. She jerked to a stop several steps later, a bright pink tinging her cheeks that was not entirely caused by the cold.

Sandor followed her line of vision and smirked.

Stranger had mounted on the little perlino mare and was quite involved. His large warhorse was eagerly thrusting and nipping the mare.

"Let's give them some privacy." Sandor gave her arm a gentle tug to steer her away from the horses.

Sansa remained a soft shade of pink and quiet.

"Surely you've seen animals copulating. You were around the Queen Regent long enough to know the basics."

Sansa flushed more brightly at that, and gazed at the ground.

Sandor took a deep breath, wishing for wine again. She had to know how men looked at her, and what those looks meant. Baelish had never made a good secret of loving Catelyn Tully. He had had Sansa to himself and in his power. She had been with Baelish long enough for who knew what to happen to her.

"Did he hurt you?" Sandor growled as they made their way toward the cave. He would tear that little man's head off. He would wrap the little bastard's intestines around his neck and hang him with them. He would cut off every one of his tiny, littlefingers, and force feed them to him.

"He saved my life once," Sansa said.

Sandor jerked. Who had endangered her life while she played the natural daughter of a recently elevated Vale Lord? He would kill them too. 

"My aunt tried to push me out the moon door. He arrived and got her to release me. I lost a boot. She really wanted to kill me. She was drunker than I ever saw anyone. He then kissed her, told her he never loved her, and pushed her to her death."

So Baelish was capable of doing one thing right. But it was only so he had less troubles. "Why did she want to push you to your death?"

"She saw Petyr kiss me. I had been building a snow castle in the yard. He came and helped me, and then he kissed me. My Aunt Lysa, whom he had recently married after becoming Lord Paramount of the Trident, saw us. The Lord of the Trident could marry the widow of Jon Arryn."

Crunch.

Sandor held in the growl. Titles were too often bestowed on the least worthy and most ruthless and conniving. They saw a chance for advancement and would take it--regardless of how many they had to fight, murder, rape, plunder, or rob. If he saw that little piece of shit lord again, he would kill him. Baelish put her life at risk. He probably told her the biggest lies to get her to come along with him.

"He was always kissing me and never asked. If I didn't—" Sansa cut off and hugged his arm.

Crunch. Crunch. It was the sound of someone's feet punching through the icy crust of snow behind them.

"He'll never kiss you again," Sandor said, stopping and pulling her around so she was in front of him. He was between her and the person following them. He withdrew his arm from her hold cautiously. He put his hand on his blade. Someone was following them, and they should not be doing that. Their plans were not meant to be public.

Sansa reached for his arm, biting her lip.

"We should leave tonight, Little Bird. Before winter sets in even harder. It is important to get away before Baelish comes back." Sandor held the hilt of his sword. He spun, prepared to decapitate the person spying on them.


	14. Elder Brother III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Some say she killed Renly."

He had never expected to see such tenderness and gentility and chivalry from the larger man. Sandor had always been gruff of tongue and coarse with his language, despite the gentle admonishments from Elder Brother. But there Sandor was, allowing the young woman to hold his arm with both her hands. He had even offered his arm to her, and pulled her a little closer. It would have been a pleasure to perform a wedding ceremony for the pair, but the young lady was already married and born far above Sandor. 

He followed them at a good distance to give them some privacy for their conversation. He caught a few snatches that warmed his heart. Sandor was not a man who did devotion by halves. He would do anything that young lady asked of him. She was such softness and kindness. She had never said an unkind word since she arrived. She had spoken of Sandor to him often, of how she had prayed for him, of how she had not appreciated him as well as she might have.

The Hound had never loved another, but Sandor gave love and desired love from a fine lady. She had been so kind over the last week to the scarred man. He suspected she had always tried after her fashion to be nice to him, only to get growls and snarls as the man slunk away, afraid of being kicked if he accepted the delicious morsels offered to him.

People tended to be cruel to those who looked different. Many people had unkindly treated the man who had been the Hound for so many years. Being feared was all they would give him. He deserved more kindness in spite of his rough edges. He had done many horrendous deeds, however, he was not the worst of men. He was just a man.

He had often seen them walking close together since she arrived, never touching, while she spoke softly to him. She had walked about and helped him with collecting the treasures that were brought by the river to the island. Now, she was holding Sandor's arm very close, and he was speaking softly to her.

He sped up to join them as he heard a snippet from Sandor about leaving the Quiet Isle. They would be better off, especially in these times, if they waited to be joined by Lady Brienne and her young squire.

There was a tension in Sandor's back as he approached the pair. He stopped ten feet back when he saw Sandor touching the hilt of his newly acquired sword.

“Elder Brother,” Sansa spoke softly. Her hand reached out and touched Sandor's where it rested on the hilt of his sword. Her small, pale, smooth hand was such a contrast to his large, scarred, crushing hand.

The tension remained as the large man turned and glanced over his shoulder. But he released his grip on the sword.

“It's time for lunch. I thought you two might join all of us in the main dining hall.”

Sandor relaxed only minutely and turned, keeping the girl behind him.

“We would be pleased to join you,” Sansa said, stepping around Sandor so she could be seen. She took Sandor's arm and drew it to her chest. “Will you walk with us?”

“I would be pleased, my Lady. I want to speak with you about your plans.”

“I would welcome your advice, Elder Brother. Any information you have that can help us stay a little safer is always welcome.” Sansa spoke quietly, keeping her hands lightly on Sandor's arm.

He moved up to walk next to Sandor. He had started up to be next to Sansa, but the stormy look in Sandor's eyes convinced him that the attack on the young woman was too fresh in his mind for him to allow such. It was like the story of the Maiden and the Warrior. It was like gazing upon a story of the gods brought to life.

“It might be best to wait to discuss such things until we are alone,” Sandor said. He kept glancing over at Lady Sansa.

Sandor had never been so attentive to another human. He had always been a more private man. But he had scarce allowed the young woman out of his sight since she arrived. He had insisted upon taking her meals to her when she did not join the brothers in the main dining hall. He had made sure her bedding was clean, her fires were lit, and she had anything she might want. It was so moving to see him so enthralled.

Lunch was spent exchanging quiet meaningless conversation with Sansa. She was a very pleasant and engaging young woman. Sandor gave her first choice of every dish as it was passed. He poured her a cup of hot spiced wine. She smiled and thanked him with soft words and a smile, taking a small bit of everything that he offered.

She sat close to him on the bench. Her arm softly brushed against him with almost every bite she took. The brothers ate quickly and were soon on their way back to work.

“My Lady,” Elder Brother began once they were alone. “I would like to ask you to delay your journey.”

Sansa shot a sharp look to Sandor. She was clearly willing to defer to his judgement and knowledge, just as he was willing to listen and tend to her needs.

“The longer we stay here, the more risk there is to you, Brother.” Sandor said, shifting to his full height.

“There have been innumerable hangings by the outlaws in this area. Not to mention the recent massacre at Saltpans. If the man who now wears your helmet is still about, you will be safer if you wait for Lady Brienne to join you.”

“I know nothing of Lady Brienne,” Sansa said firmly. “What I do know is that Tarth is part of the Stormlands, and likely sworn to either the Iron Throne or Lord Stannis. I am not sure I have good cause to trust her.”

“Lady Brienne is a woman of honor, my Lady.”

Sansa shifted closer to Sandor. She looked up at him for advice.

"Sandor, do you know anything about this Lady Brienne?"

“Too many stories about the wench. Not sure which are true.” Sandor took a large gulp of watered wine from his cup and poured more.

“What stories?”

“Some say she killed Renly. Just as many others claim she didn't. From what was shared with the Queen by Varys, she did leave the Stormlord's company with Lady Catelyn. She is large, but not as big or strong as me. You know all I know.”

Sansa bit her lip.

“She will not hurt you, Lady Sansa. She swore to bring you to your mother.” Elder Brother said, gazing straight into her eyes. He had to make her understand. It would be more fitting for her to have more companions than just Sandor as it was. Sandor saw her as a woman, and was a temptation. She needed another lady about her.

“My mother was killed by the Freys.”

“She is determined to enter your service and find you and your sister.” Elder Brother spoke, softly touching her hand. “I do not believe she would harm you. Would you not enjoy the company of another lady? It would be more suitable for you to be traveling as such.” 

She looked over at Sandor.

"There is safety in numbers, Little Bird.”

“I ask you to wait for her to join you. If not, and you still feel the need to leave quickly, I will say no more about it.” Elder Brother said. Surely she could be back that quickly or squarely in the path of the pair leaving.

“What do you think?” Sansa gazed almost helplessly at Sandor.

“We wait but not too long, playing our roles as a brother and Baelish's bastard. No more closeness than we have already shown. I will determine the best way to go about getting safely to the Keep. If you do not want the Stormwench, we can easily give her the slip. She does not need to know where we are going.”

Sansa nodded slowly and took a large gulp of spiced wine.

"We will wait seven days for Lady Brienne, and if she is not here by then, we will have to leave."

Elder Brother nodded and rose.

"If you will excuse me, I have some duties to attend to."

He left quickly. With prayer, the message and Lady Brienne would arrive in the allotted time period.


	15. Sansa VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Time for another lesson in flight, Little Bird.”

Sansa moved about her cabin in the hours just before dawn. She had added a log to the fire, and it crackled in the hearth, heating and lighting the small area nicely. She rubbed her arms a little. She and Sandor were leaving as soon as the sun made it light enough to see their way across the waters, and Lady Brienne had not yet arrived. But they could not afford to wait longer. They needed to be gone and as far from here as possible. 

Maybe they would find Lady Brienne along the way—maybe she had found Arya. She bit her lip, remembering how she had yelled at her sister for staining a dress. That had been one of the last times that she saw Arya. She rubbed her eyes. She would hug her sister close and beg her forgiveness.

She would love her only sister and only remaining brother better now. She took the hairnet that she had worn to Joffrey's wedding out and observed it, the beautifully crafted spun silver and brilliant purple amethysts from Asshai—the poison that had made Joffrey clutch his neck and tear at his throat as he tried to breath. She had kept it close to her person at all times. She felt alternately proud and ashamed, delighted and horrified, justified and guilty. She had not known, but she had been part of it. Petyr had planned each move perfectly, and had saved her. She would be safer if Petyr did not know where she was. She would find him one day and make him pay for what he did. He had been teaching her how to play the game, but what had been his game? He was nothing but lies, wrapped in more lies. He had no honor, and her father had been honor and love, kindness and bravery, duty and strength. Yet, he was still alive.

She tucked it close, stroking the place where the amethyst that had been used to kill Joffrey had been taken by the Queen of Thorns. She had not told Sandor how Joffrey had died. She wasn't sure if she would, if he wanted to know. He had been Joffrey's shield for many years, though he had abandoned him the night of the Blackwater. A rich glow outside her window drew her to it. The glow intensified. 

She wandered to the door and pushed it open, wondering what it could be. She wrapped the white fur lined cloak around her shoulders and walked toward the glow. She could now hear distant shouts.

Fear swept through her, and she turned to find Sandor. Saltpans was burning. She pressed a hand to her chest. She clutched the hairnet, staring at the orange flames and remembering the green ones.

Two hands pressed down on her shoulders.

“Sandor!” she screamed. “Sandor!” She wrenched desperately against the hands holding her.

“I'm right here, Little Bird.” The person released his hold, and she would have fallen to the ground if a large arm had not wrapped around her waist.

She wiggled furiously till she faced him. She lunged toward him and wrapped her arms around his middle.

“Saltpans is burning. I hear shouting.” She rested her head over his chest. She could hear his heartbeat and felt calmed.

“Calm down, Little Bird.” He patted the sword at his hip. “We will be leaving to the south shore as it is.” He rested a large hand on the nape of her neck. 

Sansa looked up at him. She held his waist firmly. He smelled clean and masculine, not of blood, sweat, alcohol, or fire. She slid her hands up, gripping his clothes.

“The horses are ready. Go get your things. I'll bring them down.”

Sansa gripped him more tightly for a moment. She rubbed her lips together, staring at him. The last time he had grabbed her. Then he had kissed her. Was she supposed to kiss him now? Sansa gave him another squeeze. She wished she was tall enough to touch her cheek to his, strong enough to pull him closer. Was now the time to kiss him? It was almost identical to the last time they kissed. She would kiss him.

“Hurry, Little Bird. There is no time to waste.”

She released him.

“I'm glad you're here, Sandor.” She slid her fingers over his face.

“Fly, Little Bird. We must fly.”

Sansa nodded. She squeezed him again and raced to grab the few possessions that remained to her. She tucked everything into a small, leather shoulder bag. She tucked the hairnet into the bag carefully.

She jumped and looked toward the north shore. The shouts were getting closer. The fires were burning brighter. The smell of the smoke was heavy.

“Sansa, hurry.”

She raced out when she heard his gruff voice. Tears rose in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his chest. She could hear his heartbeat. It was very steady. She let out a slow breath.

“I won't let them hurt you.”

Sansa bit her lip. She did not want him to be hurt defending her. She still remembered that day of the riot. Thirty men surging around them, and Sandor drove them all back from her. She remembered a arm being severed and a throat being opened.

She raced to the door after dousing the fire. They had to go and quickly.

“Sansa.”

“I'm here,” Sansa called, racing outside. 

“Come here, Little Bird. I want you to ride with me as we cross the water.”

Sansa came toward the gigantic black horse. She was going to ride close to him again.

He reached down and gathered her up, placing her in front of him. He wrapped his arms tightly around her. 

She settled back against him.

“Time for another lesson in flight, Little Bird.”


	16. Brienne I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He killed two men on this island who wished to take your daughter to certain death."

Brienne stared at the man in the Hound's helm, the man the others called Lem Lemoncloak. He was the man who had seemed to think it would be so humorous to make her dance and kick her legs while she choked. He was also the man who kept her bound tightly to the saddle of the bay mare that Jaime had given her. In an honorable fight with her, he would not stand a chance. But the fight was not destined to be fair or honorable.

A proctor from the Quiet Isle had arrived and somehow stopped the hanging of herself, Podric Payne, and Ser Hyle Hunt. When he had been questioned by Lady Stoneheart about whether he had seen Arya Stark or Sandor Clegane, he claimed that Sansa Stark was on Quiet Isle. He was kept captive by the Brotherhood and had spoken of her recent visited the isle in search of the young woman. He said that she had arrived in the company of Lord Petyr Baelish and three knights. He had given no further details, saying that Elder Brother would explain all else.

She had her hands bound behind her back and a length of rope was around her neck, binding her neck to the front part of the saddle of the bay mare that Ser Jaime had given her. Jaime also gave her the letter from King Tommen and the money she had when she left Kings Landing to seek Lady Sansa and Arya Stark for Lady Catelyn. She believed she had failed the great lady and the Lord Commander of the Kings Guard when she had not found Sansa. But now she kenw there was still a chance, and she had not failed either. She would find both of Lady Catelyn's daughters, as she had sworn to do. 

Jaime had told her before she left of the false Lady Arya being sent to the Boltons. She remembered his emerald eyes, his golden hair before he shaved it, and his bright smile, how his words had hurt her at first. She would not betray him like she did in her dream. She could not bear the thought. Jaime was so earnest about saving Lady Sansa. She had not been able to resist shouting out when she saw one of the men from the Quiet Isle.

They had left directly afterwards to investigate the veracity of the claim with the proctor leading the way. It had taken four days to travel all the way back to the Quiet Isle. She had walked the whole way back to the Quiet Isle behind the mare, forcing herself to ignore the hateful words of Lem. They were now standing in the sacked village of Saltpans again. The buildings had been set alight. They had found some boats and were presently loading into them. Many of the Brotherhood would be remaining behind, and so would all the horses.

She stared at Oathkeeper where it hung from the belt of a northman. She prayed that Lady Sansa was there. Sansa could confirm her story, about having fled Kings Landing before she and Ser Jaime had ever arrived. Lady Sansa would be able to spare many lives. Then she could get back to the business of searching for Arya Stark. She needed to find the younger girl. She had given her word to Lady Stark and to Ser Jaime to find the girls and keep them safe. She would be able to tell Ser Jaime that Arya might be alive and out there somewhere.

“Get in the boat, Woman,” Lem said, giving her a push.

Brienne glowered at him. If she had her hands and Oathkeeper, she would chop him down. But Biter had been insane and torn a hunk of flesh from her face. She had passed out from pain and infection, but the Red Priest had saved her. She was glad the smith had been there when she encountered Biter, and the boy, Gendry, so clearly one of King Robert's bastards and Jeyne Heddle had left to return to care for the other children. Those children needed more than they had. There was not nearly enough there to keep them them healthy all winter.

Brienne winced as she had to cramp her body up in the boat. She stared at the Quiet Isle. Elder Brother would help her. He had sent word to her of the safety of Sansa. She wondered what the young woman would be like.

“Hope his tale was true,” Lem whispers as he rows the boat forward. “If not, milady might very well take all her anger out on the brothers for lying to her.”

They landed soon enough and the proctor stood there waiting for them. He led the way up the hill to where a group of brothers stood waiting and watching them.

“Elder Brother, may I present Lady Catelyn Stark, here to collect her daughter?”

“An honor to meet you, milady,” Elder Brother said, motioning to the proctor that he was free to leave them. 

The woman placed a hand on her throat and gurgled a response. The young man leaned close, listening to her.

“I will have my daughter brought to me at once, Brother. She is a little girl who has been far too long separated from her mother.”

“Milady, your daughter saw the burning of Saltpans and heard the shouting. We feared that her life might be in danger from the same men who last plundered and raped Saltpans. She left with her guard on the fastest, strongest horses we had here to the south shore. She has a powerful man who has always protected her at her side.”

The gurgling, hissing angry noise from the shrouded woman's throat.

Brienne winced and looked away. The sound reminded her of the dying breath of a man after his throat had been slit. And Lady Catelyn also stank of death and rot. It was enough to make a person ill. 

“Where is this man taking my daughter?” the man translated, shifting a little to the side and getting on his knees.

“I was not informed. We both felt it wise. I can not give up what I do not know, no matter what is done to me to extort the information. She wished this man to be at her side. She has faith in him.”

The woman gurgled and hissed, holding her hand to her throat.

Brienne looked them over fearfully. Surely, the woman who had been Catelyn Stark would not harm brothers of the faith. Lady Stoneheart terrified her. She had sworn to serve her, but she would not bring harm to Ser Jaime so long as he kept to his word to see Lady Stark's daughters safely returned to her. She tried to forget the way he had looked at her when he joined her in the bath. He had been very handsome.

“Who is this man?”

“His name is Sandor. He killed two men on this island who wished to take your daughter to certain death.”

The man leaned close to Lady Stoneheart, listening intently.

Brienne shifted. Sandor Clegane, the man the Elder Brother had claimed was dead. The Hound was alive. The Hound had her lady's daughter. 

“I will decide for myself about him. If any harm has come to Lady Sansa, we will come back. You will pay blood for blood.”

“Lady Sansa is safe with her companion. If you will allow me, I will accompany you on your search for Lady Sansa and return here once you have been reunited.” Elder Brother offered, taking a step toward Lady Stoneheart. 

The man listened close and nodded.

“It is agreed. Bring her forward.”

Brienne gasped as Lem jerked the rope binding her hands and neck. She stumbled as she was pulled in front of Lady Stoneheart and forced to her knees. She gazed up at her lady as she gurgled.

“Lady Brienne, you are charged with going to find Jaime Lannister. You will inform him that you need his help to save Lady Sansa. If he refuses to come, you will kill him for the oathbreaker that we know him to be. You will bring Lady Stoneheart his head as proof.” 

Brienne lifted her head, sliding a foot forward under her to rise. She would go for this. She would search for Lady Sansa along the way. Hopefully, she would be able to take Sansa directly with her to a safe location. She would take her to Tarth, but it was just too close to Kings Landing to be safe. She was certain that Ser Jaime would help her find a safe place to take Lady Sansa. She would keep her word to both Lady Catelyn and Ser Jaime. She promised to help Ser Jaime for the sake of his honor. She promised Lady Catelyn because she was a woman of great kindness, honesty, and love. She would find the girls and keep them safe. She remembered the day that Lady Catelyn had sent her to deliver the Kingslayer to Kings Landing. She had succeeded in that, though not without his help. She would succeed in the rest of the mission with which she had been charged.

“Yes, my Lady. I will do as you command.” Brienne bowed her head to Lady Stoneheart. “He will come.” She felt a sharp pain in her heart. If he refused, she did not know if she would truly be able to bring Lady Stoneheart his head. But he would come. She was sure of it.


	17. Sandor VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A Riverland man making his way home with his wife from the Vale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big Thank you to all readers and especially reviewers. They really do help inspire the process.

Sandor looked down at the little bird in his arms. She was resting with her head on his arm. This had become their norm. After she ate lunch, they would stop to make water if they needed. Then she would climb up and ride with him for the afternoon. She would sleep in his arms so there was no risk of her falling off her horse and becoming injured. She had taken to using his arm for a pillow and wrapping her arms around it as she leaned back against his chest. 

She had insisted on taking night watches so he could have some sleep. It was not necessarily the best way, but with only two of them, it was all they could do. He knew if she needed him, he would be ready for a fight in an instant. Her stomach gave a big growl as she shifted, tightening her arms around his and sighing in a sweet, soft pitch. He would not mind being allowed to listen to that noise every morning. He just wished that she would share a bed with him willingly, wouldn't be disgusted to wake up seeing his face after a night of passionate embraces. 

He stopped the horses and lifted her over to the mare as soon as she was fully awake. She had hugged his arm softly as he released her and offered him a shy look. She leaned forward and scratched the mare's neck. She fixed her hair a little, tucking it back from her face.

She stretched, and he could hear the popping of her joints. She looked tired, but she had not complained once on their journey. She was mostly quiet, about everything. He had told her as they crossed the water that less noise meant less chance of capture. Her one insistence was always smiling and thanking him when he would bring her food or lift her up onto her horse. It made him wish he could offer her more. She always seemed to let her hands linger on his shoulders just a moment beyond that which was strictly required. He would trail his hands down her skirts, though not close enough to feel what was beneath them as he wished. 

They had been on the road for several days, only stopping for a few hours each night. They had had to cut different directions, sometimes even doubling back the way they had come when they heard or saw signs of others having too recently been on the path they were traveling. He was taking no chances on meeting the outlaws. Thieves and liars and delusionals. He planned to take her west toward the Kings Road and cut across toward Riverrun and south into the hills. They would reach Clegane Keep.

“Sandor.”

He jerked his head at the sound of the little bird's voice. It broke through the silence just like the chirps of the forest birds each morning as they would greet the sun. The shine of her hair was somewhat dulled from going days without a bath, though her eyes remained bright and alert. Several times she had slept during the day in his arms, riding pillion, so she was sure she could stay awake at night and let him sleep. She had insisted that he needed sleep, and she was sure she could stay awake. He had not slept well, but he rarely did sleep deeply.

“Yes, Little Bird.” 

She had to be hungry. They still had a good amount of smoked and salted venison left that the brothers of the Quiet Isle had happily given to them. He knew she was becoming tired of it after four days, but most of the other food they had been gifted would require a fire to prepare properly, and there was so much danger with a fire being spotted by outlaws in these parts that he had been unwilling to take the risk.

Sansa moved her mare up alongside him. Her breathing was slightly fast and heavy. She tucked her cloak about her more tightly. She touched his hands softly where they rested lightly against Stranger's neck. He shifted a little, remembering the night of their flight. She had pressed her back to his chest and eventually fallen asleep, wrapping her arms around one of his with her cheek nestled in his elbow.

“Smoke.” Releasing him, she pointed ahead of them to where a thin, curling spiral of bluish smoke rose. She gazed up at him.

“There is an inn ahead at the crossroads. I thought we might stop for a hot meal.”

She brightened at the mention of hot food and straightened her posture before a nervous look flitted across her face. She pulled her arms in a little closer to her sides.

“Will it be safe?”

“Why wouldn't we be? We just have to play a little game.” Sandor raised his cowl to hide his face. “A Riverland man making his way home with his wife from the Vale.”

Sansa jerked a little as he moved his horse ahead of hers to make sure if any danger came out from the area around the Inn that he would meet it before her. She moved her horse up closer to him on the left side. She kept shooting him nervous looks. She patted the base of the horse's neck.

Sandor pulled his horse to a stop to let her come up alongside him. He peered into the late evening gloom of the forest. He could see small footprints in the snow around the main path. They were far too small for full grown men, some too small even for a man the size of the Imp. They had to belong to children.

“You're safe with me here, Sansa.”

Sansa nodded as her body tensed. She looked ready to try to crawl onto Stranger's back behind him. It would be nice to have her close when they rode up. He had never had a woman want to be so close to him. He would always remember the feeling of her arms around him as they escaped from the commoners as they rioted, and how he had not taken the chance to run with her. He remembered peeling them from him as he lifted her down from her chestnut horse.

Sandor lifted his hood up to cover his face. This was the inn where he had taken his injury, where the youngest Stark girl had stabbed someone and saved his life, though she claimed to hate him and had abandoned him afterward. He did not remember much of that incident. It would not do to be recognized here. 

“You do the talking, Little Bird.” Sansa nodded, touching his arm lightly as she moved her horse ahead of him, stopping at the edge of the woods.

He reached around and touched the hilt of his sword. The little bird would not allow him to kill any children, even if they threatened her. But the footprints moving in toward a crude looking forge were a fair amount larger than any of the others. They had to be from a large boy or man. Dark smoke roiled from the chimney, and the sound of a hammer rang through the air. The inn apparently had a smith, most likely to help travelers if their horses threw shoes.

Several children milled about the three story inn in raggedy clothing. Some were barefoot and almost all were dirty. As soon as they moved out into the open toward the inn, the children disappeared behind bushes and through windows. But several dozen small faces peered at them around the edges of windows and the door frames of all three levels.

“Gendry!” A tall girl called from her place in the center of the doorway. She was holding a small cooking knife in her hand and had a scowl.

The hammering in the forge ceased, and a large boy who looked about seventeen came out of the forge bare-chested and carrying a enormous hammer.

“What are you looking for here?” the boy called Gendry asked, moving to a place in front of the steps leading up to the main door.


	18. Sansa VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A gray direwolf on a field of white; Winter is coming; Winterfell."

Sansa moved forward slowly on her horse. She stared at the boy. She knew who his father was. She would know, even if she was as stupid as Joffrey and the Queen always said. This was obviously one of King Robert's bastards, one of Mya Stone's half brothers.

“I am Lady Rowena, and this is my husband. We are making our way back home to the southern Riverlands. I am the daughter of a wealthy merchant from the Arryns of Gulltown.”

Gendry looked her over. He pushed his messy black hair back from his face. It was quite tangled, and his face was somewhat sooty. His eyes shone bright with an intelligence of more than he shared.

“So you're a lady?” he asked, looking her over. He looked like he had more to say. 

“Yes,” Sansa answered without hesitation, looking directly into Gendry's eyes. They were clear and bright, unlike Fat King Robert's, which were more often than not glazed with the shine of intoxication. She knew she was wearing a simple brown woolen dress and white fur cloak.

“I've known other ladies, milady.” 

Gendry looked her over suspiciously with his vivid blue eyes. He continued to change his grip on the hammer as he looked over at them. He looked to be of a age with Jon and Robb. 

She shook back thoughts of Robb. She would never see Robb again. Robb was dead, and Jon had to go to the wall because her mother would not allow him to remain after Father took her and Arya to Kings Landing to become Hand. She had not even said goodbye to Jon. Arya had been as close to tears as she ever saw her little sister when Jon turned north while they rode south.

“I have no doubt, Ser.” Sansa looked straight into the blue eyes. She petted the neck of her mare. That boy was not that far from Kings Landing.

“What is your business, milady?” Gendry asked.

“This is an inn, Gendry. They probably want to stay the night,” another young girl said, her hand reaching out to rest on Jeyne's arm as she slipped around her.

“Willow.”

“Jeyne,” the younger girl responded in the same reproachful tone of voice.

Sansa saw the argument brewing just as it would between her and Arya when they were younger or at their needlework under the instruction of Septa Mordane.

“We were hoping to stay the night and perhaps each have a bath. We are happy to share some of our food with you. These times have been hard on everyone, and now that winter is here, we must help each other to survive,” Sansa said. As soon as she said food, dozens of little faces appeared in every window. 

She remembered the stories about the Kings of the North Old Nan would tell. How the Kings would sometimes starve alongside their smallfolk. She had never liked those stories, but they were Bran's favorites. Her real father would starve alongside the smallfolk, but her false father would just claim that less peasants would not be an issue.

A few boys who looked about Bran's age when she left Winterfell peeped out from each side of the steps up to the inn's porch. There were so many, and no parents. They were orphans, just like she was now. A dirty, naked toddler peeped out from around the larger girl's leg.

Every face brightened, and the patter of feet on steps and chatter of voices filled the area. The yard quickly filled with dirty children who were smiling excitedly though hanging back from fully interacting. How long had it been since they had eaten well?

She stared at them all, before turning to gaze at Sandor who had dismounted. He was petting his large black courser's neck.

“Perhaps you might prove your claim, milady,” Gendry said in such a way that made it clear that it was required in order to have a room for the night.

“How so?” Sansa lowered her hood, revealing her hair. The dirt and oils that had collected from going so many days of sleeping on the ground and not washing obscured much of the fire from her hair. What sort of test could a simple smith come up with that would possibly stump her? She knew her courtesies and the presiding lords of every great house and small in Westeros.

“You were surely educated by a Maester. Perhaps you could tell me the sigil and words and seat of the Starks.”

Sandor snorted lightly, moving toward her. Sansa shared the view that his snort has expressed. After the War of Five Kings, was there any person who did not know the Starks, the Lannisters, or the Baratheons?

“A gray direwolf on a field of white; Winter is coming; Winterfell.” Sansa said. She knew every house in Westeros, but how did a bastard blacksmith come to know the name of the Stark's seat or their words? Had he met her father? His accent was not northern; he was clearly from Kings Landing. She had known every man who had served her father. Her father made a point of knowing the men under his care, having a different one sit with him every night. She had always paid close attention even as she often spent time giggling with Jeyne Poole. 

Gendry still looked suspiciously at her. His bright blue eyes glimmered, and his muscles twitched.

“Do you have a room for a man and his wife to stay one night?” Sansa asked, looking into Jeyne's eyes.

“Yes,” Jeyne said, stepping forward. “Gendry, help the lady down from her horse.”

“Thank you, Jeyne.” Sansa smiled at the older girl.

Sandor moved forward, glowering at the young boy with the smith's hammer in his hand. He reached for her waist after she swung her leg over to one side of the horse.

Sansa slid her hands to his shoulders and around his neck, pressing her cheek to his as he lifted her down. He was so strong. Every time he would lift her or move her, she felt a surge of gratitude for how he never hit her, and puzzlement as to why Joffrey never ordered him to do so as he had ordered all the other knights of the Kingsguard. She wished she had left with Sandor all back on the night of the Blackwater. She would not have had to suffer her sham of a marriage, despite that she had not had it nearly as bad as it would have been had she married to Joffrey.

“Thank you, my Love.” Sansa said, hugging him softly. She was to play the part of his wife. She had been a wife in all but the most intimate way.

“Wat, help with the Lady's horse.”

Sansa smiled at the younger boy. He flushed and stammered a soft greeting as he took the reins of the mare. She felt momentarily reminded of another shy young boy who had never been able to look at her without blushing and stammering. He might have been put to death in Tyrion's stead after her dwarf husband made good his escape from Kings Landing to who knew where. Maybe that nasty sellsword of his had helped him.

“Thank you, Wat.”

Wat looked down and mumbled before leading the horse away. He blushed a little, throwing a look over his shoulder at her.

“Willow, show the lady to her room. And see to it that water is heated for a bath for her and her husband.”

Sansa smiled at Willow and followed her away from Sandor. She would see him soon, and she would be clean again. She longed to be clean. She had rarely before been forced to go so long without a hot bath or bath of any kind really. Sandor had never seen her so rumpled. She removed one of the dragons from the bag that Petyr had left with her.

“Do you have any soap, Willow?”

“Only a little nice soap, milady.”

“I would appreciate some,” Sansa said, pressing the gold dragon into her hand. “And I could use some company and help with my hair. I have been without female companionship since setting out for my new home.”

“Of course, milady. Thank you, milady.” Willow stared at the gold dragon as if she had never seen one before.

Sansa smiled at her. She had seen more than forty faces she was certain. They could use the money to feed these children. All orphans. The youngest could not have even seen her second moon. They were all so skinny. Every one of the them needed new clothes, food, and a safer place to live. This inn was a bad place for a large group of children to be, especially if their primary protector had a head that the queen would love to see on a spike around Maegor's.

“Perhaps we could talk some, Willow.” Sansa said, tucking back Willow's dark brown hair. Except for her eyes, she looked very like Arya.

Willow smiled softly.

“I'll have your bath water brought up quick as can be, milady.”


	19. Sandor VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mistress always fed her dog as well, scraps from her plate under the table.

Sandor rubbed Stranger down thoroughly, rubbing away every mark left by the saddle and bridle. The stallion bumped his nose to Sandor's chest repeatedly in thanks. He reached up and scratched behind the edge of his chin.

After making sure his horse was secure, he went over to check Wat's work with the mare. He slid his hands over the mare, checking every hoof. The boy had done a damn fine job. He could learn to be a good stable keeper and perhaps even a squire, given enough time.

He looked over at the only other horse in the barn, a tall gray mare. It was a fit animal and was being well cared for by Wat presumably. At least a mare would not get Stranger stirred up unless she was in heat, and this mare gave no inclination of being interested in mating.

He picked up a bag of the grain. The little bird had promised some food to them in return for shelter. With that large a number of mouths, Sandor shuddered. All orphans. Most probably saw a parent killed, all in the fight for an ugly, uncomfortable chair. He took the small bag of dried fruit as well.

He walked slowly to the inn. He ignored the blood stain on the floor where one of the vicious sons of whores who worked for his brother had died. The wolf bitch had done an excellent job of killing that one. He had not known Starks had that kind of cold rage. He never saw Lord Stark raise his voice or show any emotion really. The little bird had only once shown an inclination toward striking back at those who sought to harm her. But the younger one reminded him of himself at her age. Her rage and resentment.

The large girl, Jeyne, took the bag of grain from him, and a small child around three years of age reached for the other bag. She held Jeyne's skirt with her other hand and gazed up at him as if he was a giant and frightful. She whimpered, hiding her face behind Jeyne's skirts.

"It's okay. I apologize, milord. Her parents were killed in front of her by the Mountain. She is nervous of any man with a sword, even Gendry. He won't hurt you, little one."

Sandor watched the young girl follow the older girl. He knew what Gregor had been capable of. It was a wonder that the little one had survived. No act or person was too small as to be below Gregor's interest in entertainment for torture. He shook his head. There would be plenty of gold and food once they arrived at Clegane Keep. He was certain of that. Lannisters always paid their debts, and their lands had always been relatively fertile. She would be safe there.

He and Sansa would be alone there, with all the warren of smallfolk terrorized by his brother. That terror would actually work in his favor. If they thought he was capable of even the most minor of his brother's atrocities, they would not even look him in the face. Not that they would look him in the face if they thought him incapable of the atrocities. He would let the little bird take care of the household responsibilities.

He went up the stairs.

A light streamed down the otherwise darkening hallway, and he could hear pretty chirping. He moved quickly toward the sound. He did not feel that the children meant her any harm, but some of them would doubtlessly be able to harm her. He recognized the boy after thinking about it; he was the one who was knighted the evening he tried to reclaim his gold from the Outlaws. That was the night he claimed the littlest Stark with the intention of ransoming her to her kingly brother.

He would have to convince Sansa to leave with him in the middle of the night. If the little idiot still fancied himself a knight and still followed Dondarrion, or whatever was left of the mad fool, he could be extremely dangerous. They might want to put him on trial for some other imagined slight or crime he did not commit if they found him here.

There could be no rest here. But she could have her warm bath and a hot meal, and they could pretend to bed down for the evening, then sneak out as soon as all the children were asleep.

He pushed open the door slowly and stopped. His eyes went wide. He peered through the curtain of hair combed over the left side of his face.

Sansa Stark was standing in a metal tub, naked as her name day with water running over her body. Her hair had a net of glittering bubbles woven through its twisting wet ringlets. It shone closer to its true auburn now that it had been washed. Even more of the brown dye was washing away. The ends of it trailed down her breasts, just long enough to obscure her nipples.

He felt a little weak. He had not been so hard and aroused since he last fantasized about saving Sansa. She was supposed to have said—he gulped. She was gorgeous. She could bring any sane man to his knees with her smile. He remembered the press of her hand on his shoulder and his cheek when they were in Kings Landing, the times that were not dreams.

She turned softly, exposing her back to him. He saw a thin scar, courtesy of one of Joffrey's rages, but other than that, her skin was pale as cream and looked as soft and tender as a new born puppy's under the circular swirls of iridescent soap bubbles. The curve her buttocks sent a thrum of desire through him to the core. A moment later, water was cascading over her, washing the soap away. He would not be relaxed without tending to himself tonight. He tucked his robes about him to hide his desire, not that she would look for something of that nature. She was a lady in every way; she was his lady.

Sandor wished he had the strength to look away, but he couldn't. His cock throbbed as she slid her hands over her buttocks, brushing the excess water away and checking for the soap.

Another jar of water was lifted and poured over the top of her head. She smoothed her hands over herself. She knelt in the tub, and a third jar of water was poured over her head as she tilted it back to prevent any soap from going in her eyes.

The line of her perfect, slender throat was exposed. It would be a dream to be able to nip such sweet, delicate skin while he loved her. If she threw her head back and arched against him, he would caress every inch of her body, his _Maiden_. If that was blasphemy, he did not care to be holy.

She was a goddess, and he was just a dog, not even a nice enough dog to rate a place in her kennels, let alone at her feet at table or guarding and warming her bed at night while she slept. He remembered how he had scoffed as she tried to thank him for saving her several weeks after he rescued her. He had been drunk, and scoffed at her for trying to pet him. Afterward, she called him hateful.

The soap was washed entirely from her body as she rose. Water ran over her breasts, caressing their rounded curves and continuing their path down her waist and stomach. Her arms crossed over her body, lifting her breasts as she brushed water from her thin arms. She pushed her hair all back over her shoulders, and began gently squeezing excess water from it. Her back arched as she did so, thrusting her teats forward. Her pink nipples hardened in response to the slight chill of the room.

He could think of better and more pleasurable ways of hardening her nipples and making her arch her back.

A beautiful thatch of auburn covered her mound.

Sandor dug his nails into his leg to try to distract himself. He should not look at her that way, no matter what game they were playing about her being his wife. It might have been better to pretend that she was his daughter, as the younger Stark had so often been taken for. However, Sansa was far too beautiful to successfully pass for a daughter of his. But if a man had enough money, or a good enough title—he could be so fat as to be unable to sit a horse, and a gorgeous woman would be offered on a platter. If he had a daughter, he would make sure she was happy in her choice.

"Willow, a towel, please," she asked. Her voice was soft. He breathed out heavily, imagining that voice whispering his name in his ear while pressing her teats to his chest. She could hold him tight to her.

Willow turned to the chair behind her and gasped.

"You should not be here," she declared. "Leave!"

Sansa turned quickly. Her bright blue eyes gazed into his with a softness. She hid any surprise or disgust she might have felt at being ogled by him so quickly that he wondered if she felt any at all. She made no move to cover herself upon seeing him. He looked away and went toward the window.

"Willow, my husband saw me this way our wedding night. It is customary for man and wife to be thus with each other."

Willow flushed brightly, and glared at him again. She quickly helped wrap the towel around Sansa.

"He should have told you he was here, instead of gaping at you, milady."

"He is a man of few sounds, and fewer words, since we were reunited following the war. A lady must accept her husband for who he is, for she never choses him. No matter how disagreeable she makes herself, it will never change him. Nor should she seek to. This man is and always has been kind to me, after his own fashion, which is more than most ladies have."

Willow looked confused as she helped Sansa from the tub.

"My husband likely means to claim his rights to me, Willow. I shall join you for supper as soon as I may. Do save me a seat at your side. I have found our conversation most informative."

"Of course, milady. If you need anything, just ask, milady."

Willow gave Sandor another dirty look as she left. She looked like she wanted to continue chastising him, but she held her tongue. She shut the door. She would be a shrewish wife to any man foolish enough to take her as his woman one day.

"Is everything alright, Sandor?" she moved over behind a changing screen.

"We can not stay the whole night here, Little Bird."

"Why?" her voice called from behind the screen.

Sandor wished he had the strength to turn his back to the screen. There was a small hole in it through which he could see. Her silhouette was clear and stunning with the fire on the other side of the screen. He should not be here. One of her knights would not look at her the way he did. She deserved a knight, a true knight who would sing songs as sweet as her peeps and love her. She would have made a wonderful queen. He wondered if the North would make a queen of her.

A fresh pale blue woolen dress was draped over the top of the screen and simple small clothes and underskirt.

"The smith boy, Gendry, is a member of the Outlaws. This is likely a place they come and go from freely. They robbed me, and held your sister for a period of time. The Dondarrion man was brought back to life by the red priest after I near cleaved him in two. I saw it with my own eyes."

Sansa came out from behind the screen after pulling the dress over her head. She was fussing with the laces.

"What do we do? What direction do we go to escape the Outlaws?" she spoke calmly, though her eyes betrayed her nerves.

"The best direction to escape outlaws would be south."

Sansa paled and dropped the laced. The front of her dress gapped open, revealing her teats.

Sandor quickly moved around behind her. He lifted her wet hair and took the laces, gulping as his mouth dried. His knuckles brushed her soft skin as he pulled on the laces.

"Too tight, Little Bird?"

Sansa shook her head, and he finished tying the laces in a clunky bow. She turned to him and pushed his hood back. She brushed his hair back from the burnt side of his face that had once caused her to look anywhere but at him.

"How can we go toward the Queen? If she finds us—" Sansa reached for his shoulders. She breathed out a soft sigh of nerves as she said queen.

"Sansa Stark vanished, and the Hound has been plundering the Riverlands. The Lannisters have taken Riverrun, and Jaime Lannister is in that area. If the rumor of him losing his right hand is true, he will be a threat to no one, least of all me. If the rumor is not true, he is a dangerous man. He will kill anyone at his cunt's whim."

Sandor tensed his shoulders as she rested her hands on his chest. The way she gazed at him made him want to pull her close and kiss her, even knowing how unwelcome it would be—even though she remembered kissing him. How could he ask her about such a thing? He shoved the thought away. It wasn't worth thinking about. She was married. But she said she thought of him her wedding night. Why?

"I trust you to do what is needed to keep us safe, Sandor. Just don't leave me again."

Sandor nodded, taking a step back. His cock was hard enough from the vision she had made while bathing and dressing. She did not need to know the effect she had on him. It was difficult enough without her teasing him. He did not believe she meant to tease him. He should not allow himself hope. She would never be his in the way he wanted. He could be her dog though and do a dog's job for her.

"We should get down to dinner."

"I would like to bathe first, Little Bird." Sandor said. He had some pressing matters to tend to. The tightness in his trousers was unbearable.

"Would you like me to bring you a bowl of porridge and some bread?"

Sandor looked down at her. She was playing the part of his wife. It would not be unheard of for a wife to serve her husband his meal. A mistress always fed her dog as well, scraps from her plate under the table.

She reached for his face and tucked a strand of hair back out of his eyes.

It would be nice to have her bring him a meal. No lady had ever waited on him before or spoken gently to him. Sansa only spoke gently to him.

"I'll bring you a nice bowl of porridge. I don't look out of place. So even if outlaws come, I am just another orphan face to them."

"I will keep a lookout, Little Bird. If I see anyone, I will come and get you."

Sansa nodded. She took his hand gently for a moment, rubbing her thumbs over it gently and holding it up close to her heart. If he flexed his fingers, he could feel one of her growing teats. She slid her other hand to the collar of his cloak, pulling him down by it.

"Thank you, Sandor." She leaned up and kissed his cheek quickly. She backed away quickly with a soft tint on her cheeks. "I'll be back up soon with something hot for you to eat." She left, shutting the door quietly behind her.

She had kissed her little wolf too. Her two kisses to his cheek meant nothing to her. He wished he had the nerve to turn his head to meet her lips. He quickly began slipping his clothes off. He would take care of his stench and his other needs. The little bird did not need to see her new dog in the state to which his mistress had worked him.


	20. Gendry I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tried to extend the courtesy in return to her and gotten her scorn for it.

He stood at the end of the hallway, watching the pretty girl emerge from her room. Her hair caught the light of the candle she was carrying, glinting red and a little gold in the light. Her eyes had been bright blue. She said everything about the Starks as quickly as Arya had ever been able. When he found the man who kidnapped her, he was going to pay. He was making the sword to travel and find her. He would make certain that the Hound died, for kidnapping Arya and for whatever he had done to her.

Harwin had told him much of what Lady Sansa looked like and her kindness. Brienne of Tarth had also mentioned her, her age and appearance. Lady Rowena might be Sansa in disguise. Lady Stoneheart or Harwin on maybe one of the other northern soldiers would know for certain. They knew Sansa. He could only make a guess.

He moved slowly down the hall as her footsteps faded from his hearing down the stairs to the main dining area. He stopped outside the door he had seen her come out. He put his ear to the door and heard the scrape of steel against the leather. He backed up to the shadows away from the door and steps.

The door opened a moment later, and a man in boiled leather and chain stepped out. He held a blade in his hand. He was in an Inn, full of children, heard a noise near his door and greeted it with a blade. What if he hurt a little one?

Gendry shifted back farther against the wall. That was the Hound, Sandor Clegane, the man who had stolen Arya. That man had a very recognizably hideous face. Had he possibly managed to collect another Stark that he would possibly take to the Queen for a pardon. He had to keep her safe. He was the reason why Arya had ran off on her own and gotten taken by that monster in the first place. Even if the man Gendry already killed had conducted the rape of Saltpans—this man still took Arya—perhaps to her grave. Arya was a survivor. She could make it with the Hound if anyone could.

The Hound shut the door roughly enough that it bounced open a crack.

Gendry crept forward. He would be wanted downstairs for dinner, though he was not too hungry and would rather let the small children eat their fill first. There were so many of them. He wished the Brotherhood would have been willing to spare more money to see to their need for food.

He heard water splashing and sloshing and crept forward to see inside. He jerked back at the image. If he was married—he would not need to do that. Even if Lady Rowena was not who he thought she might possibly be, that was the Hound. Lady Stoneheart had been searching for him.

Gendry trotted down the stairs quickly and saw an empty place at the table next to Lady Rowena. He walked slowly to her side. 

“Ser Gendry, how nice to see you again.” She smiled a brilliant smile. “Please sit with me. I should enjoy knowing more of you.”

Gendry looked her over. There was no trace of Arya in this woman. Arya was wild, angry, and free. This girl was very controlled, kind, and more gentle than any other he had seen. He saw the compassion in her eyes when she saw all the children. She had instantly offered to share food with them. Harwin said the two were as different as any siblings could be. 

“I would be honored and delighted to hear the tale of how you were knighted, Ser.”

Gendry felt a wrenching twist in his gut. It was his agreeing to take the knighthood, join the Brotherhood that had made Arya run off and get taken. He needed to find her, make her understand that he was sorry. He had not meant to hurt her. He remembered when they had been here, and it was a brothel. He had said she was his sister, and she had been annoyed. He had been hurt by her words. Why was she so opposed to how he had chosen and seen to protect her from that perverted old man? She had been treating him like family—the way he imagined family would be based on the few memories he had of his mother. He tried to extend the courtesy in return to her and gotten her scorn for it.

“I have work to do.” Gendry looked away from her. He would go and keep her safe if it was confirmed that she was Lady Sansa. He did not know what would happen to the children, but keeping Arya's only sister alive mattered more to him right now.

He moved away, leaving too quickly to take the time to close the door to the main inn. He needed to work on his sword and keep a lookout. He would work on the dagger first though. It was more needed and closer to completion.

He began sharpening the blade. He scowled at it. It was nothing nearly as beautiful as what Master Mott had been able to create. He did not even know why he had so suddenly had to leave Kings Landing. His master had seemed so pleased with his work, that bull head helmet. He had been allowed to keep it, until the jerks who had captured them had taken it. Even the Hand had declared it to be beautiful work, but not long after, that Hand was beheaded. Why did the Hands who had visited him die?

He closed his eyes and allowed all the thoughts and bad feelings to flow out through his hammer. He would not let Sansa die. He would leave and look for her, bring her home. He would bring Arya home too.

The hours passed quickly. It was late, and a light snow was falling when the door to the forge burst open.

“That was rude, Gendry.”

He looked up as he finished affixing the hilt to the blade.

“Willow, please go get Jeyne.” He looked down at his work again.

“You're going to apologize to Lady Rowena. You are a bad knight. She did nothing. You are horrible. She is a Lady.”

“Things are bigger here than a little girl can see. Now, go get Jeyne.” Gendry said, ignoring that he had been rude to Lady Rowena. If he was to rescue her from Clegane, it would be difficult. In hindsight, he might have been able to better learn who Lady Rowena might actually be Sansa Stark. But nothing could be done about it now. He did not know how to gain the Lady's forgiveness.

“I am not a little girl. I have just as much right—” Willow said, stomping her foot.

“Get Jeyne, now. This is important.” Their lives were in danger with Clegane here.

Willow glared and turned to go get Jeyne. She slammed the door of the forge furiously.

Gendry began testing to be sure the knife was perfect. He would be sending it with Jeyne out to get to the Brotherhood. It was critical that they be informed immediately about their guests. 

The door opened softly.

“Go back and watch the children, Willow.” Jeyne moved to shut the door.

“I want to know what is going on.” Willow complained loudly. “I have every right to know. You always do this.”

“Willow, the fewer who know, the less danger there is.” Jeyne wrapped her arms around her sister. “After it is over, I will tell you everything. Just like last time.”

Willow clung to her sister.

“I can help.” Willow tilted her head up as Jeyne combed her hair with her fingers.

“You can, by making sure that Lady Rowena is being well taken care of. That is what we need now.”

Willow nodded. She gave Gendry a hurt glare and her sister a last squeeze.

Jeyne shut the door softly behind her. She latched it, going to the window to look out. She shut it, latching it securely.

“What is it, Gendry?”

Gendry flipped the knife over so he was holding the blade in his hand.

“Take it, Jeyne.” Gendry pressed the handle into her palm. “You may need it.”

She wrapped her fingers around the handle. She took a deep breath and sank down on a stool.

“What do we need to do, Gendry?” Jeyne looked up at him with large brown eyes, taking a deep breath.

“That man with Lady Rowena. His name is Sandor Clegane. He kidnapped one of Lady Stoneheart's daughters from the Brotherhood before they were able to reunite her with her mother. He must pay for his crime. I need you to ride out and tell them that he is here.”

Jeyne nodded. “We can not let them hurt Lady Rowena. She has done nothing wrong.”

“I don't think Lady Rowena is who she says she is. She might be Sansa Stark. She fits the descriptions I have been given, by her sister, Harwin, Lady Brienne. Lady Stoneheart will want her back. If it is a mistake, it is a mistake.”

Jeyne put her hand on her stomach. She let out a slow shaky breath.

“I know you don't like to leave the others. But if Clegane tries anything-”

“What? Who trained you to use a sword? The Hound is an experienced soldier. You will die if he tries anything. All the children will.”

“Ride fast.” Gendry said, deciding not to mention the act he saw Cleagane performing earlier. It was only more proof against their statement of marriage. What man had a woman as beautiful as that Lady, and needed to do that? “We have to help that lady escape him, even if she is not Lady Stoneheart's older daughter.”

Jeyne nodded.

“I'll grab a few things, check all the children, and head out.” She unlatched the door and tugged her threadbare cloak about herself more tightly. 

Gendry carefully began putting all his tools away. He would start on the hilt for his sword tomorrow. He would be able to go out and look for Arya soon, and Clegane was going to tell him where he could find her. He would bring Arya home to Lady Stoneheart, and he would earn her forgiveness. He would go with her and work at Winterfell if that was what she wanted.

Gendry went and stared into the flames of the forge. He did this often. The red priest said that visions could be revealed in the flames. Last night, he saw a wolf walking toward him, or he thought he did. The wolf sniffed him and pulled its teeth back. It had been enormous. Maybe he would be given another vision. 

“Gendry,” the door burst open. “Gendry.”

He turned. Jeyne was standing there panting and clutching a stitch in her side.

“Lady Rowena and Clegane are gone.”


	21. Sansa IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stop in for a visit with the new Lord, Lady Lannister.”

The sun was peeking over the eastern horizon on the second day of their flight from the Inn. Not a word had passed between them since they left. 

Sansa sighed, staring between the ears of the large black stallion. She touched his wrists, rubbing them to comfort herself. She leaned back against him. She wished that they would get to his safe place soon and without any more difficulties, despite nothing being easy. She rubbed his thumb, trying to shove away the look she had seen in him when she was standing in the tub. She had been stared at by men before; Petyr had come in on her bathing before. She shifted, listening to the sounds of the forest.

The snow crunched under the hooves of the horses. Sandor told her that they were making their way toward the border of the Crownlands. They might already be there. She hugged his arm. The snow their first night of travel would cover the route they had taken with any luck, assuming everyone had been asleep and their departure was not discovered until the morning. 

She fought not to glance back at him. She shifted a little. She pressed back, remembering how she had come back to the room they were sharing at the Inn and seen him standing by the window without his shirt on. He had scars on his back. He looked so powerful, and she knew that he was protecting her. She had called him, and he came to her that night Shadrich tried to take her back to the queen. He saved her just like a knight always did in the stories.

Sansa held tightly to Sandor's arm. She was exhausted and too wound up to sleep at the moment. She wished he would have held her while she rested at the end. They were closer than she had been in far too many months to Kings Landing. They had traveled almost non stop at a brisk trot. It was the most efficient pace of speed for covering ground without being overly taxing to the horses and being relatively quiet. 

She could not help thinking about how he stood, just staring at her while she was naked in the tub with water dripping off her body. His eyes had been dark and intense. She had seen Petyr look at her that way sometimes, oft times before he would take kisses. She shivered in disgust, remembering some of them. She wrapped her arms around Sandor's arm, resting her cheek on it with a deep sigh. He was brave and strong and kind, everything her father had wanted for her. 

What did Sandor want? No one did something for nothing. Petyr was right about that, she was certain. Joffrey always said she was pretty, but stupid. The Queen said a woman had a weapon between her legs to use. If the way Sandor had stared at her was any indicator, the Queen had been right. She shifted, leaning back on his chest more firmly. She turned her head and pressed her ear where she could hear the steady beat of his heart. 

She would think about this another time. She did not want to use Sandor. She was not like Cersei and did not want to be ever. She should back off him. He saved her. He always saved her, but she could not be his, if he wanted her. She was still married to Tyrion, assuming no one had killed him at the Queen's request. It would be wrong to be with Sandor that way—regardless of how much time she spent thinking of him and his kiss. She could not be cruel to him, assuming that he wanted her, which certainly did not seem like much of a hypothesis.

They were always running or hiding. Who had time to think when you were trying to avoid being assaulted or had to be running from people who wanted to hurt them or use them? She would be able to puzzle everything out once she had a moment to breathe. 

He had not looked away. He had enjoyed looking. He would not look so long or so intensely if he did not find something worth his—worth his attention. Something he found beautiful. People liked to look at pretty things and ignore ugly ones. She had ignored Sandor at first, because she thought that staring would make him angry. She blinked back tears, remembering how horrible she used to be to him. He may not talk like a knight and drink too much, but he was not vicious like others.

“Little Bird—” 

Sansa shifted so she could look into his face, but it was covered by his cowl. It made him less recognizable. Every one knew the Hound's distinctive burn-scarred face, with no need to see his helm. Only his gray eyes could be seen. Once those eyes had frightened her more than anything. Now, they were a comfort. She wished she could sag back against him more than she already was. She was safe as long as she was with him. She was away from all the people who used her. He took her away from them and would not let them hurt her anymore. Songs were never like this, but this was truth. She put a hand over his, remembering his response when she had come back from dinner with a bowl of porridge for him. 

“What is it?”

He'd nodded quietly and ate, only grunting at her attempt to converse with him and adding a log to the fire. She had hoped to find a way to bring the conversation around to the night he had left Kings Landing. She could then perhaps find a way to get to the kiss. But he had refused her the opportunity with his stubborn grunts, and then telling her that she might want to get a little sleep. She had asked him to sleep as well. He said he would rest against the door.

“People have been through here recently.” He said, pulling the horse to a stop.

Sansa shifted.

“There is a castle there,” he pointed through the edge of the small forest.

Sansa squinted through the bare branches. She could see two banners blowing softly. The higher of the two was smoky gray with something green crossing it at a slight angle. She had seen it before, though she could not place it. The lower looked like a sheep and a jeweled chalice on a field of green. House Stokeworth. Lady Tanda, Falyse, and Lollys. She shivered as she remembered their House words: _Proud to be Faithful_. They could not go there. 

“Castle Stokeworth,” she said, remembering fat, soft Lollys Stokeworth who was raped during the riot and Lady Tanda telling her how good she was to weep for Joffrey's death after he cast her aside. “What do we do now?”

“Stop in for a visit with the new Lord, Lady Lannister.”

Fifteen men emerged, forming in a circle around them. Half were seated on large horses and the other half were on the ground, holding crossbows.

Sansa felt a thrum of fear course through her. Sandor could not hope to fight so many men off at once. He would be shot and killed. She clutched him. She would not let him be hurt. She remembered where she had seen the higher of the two banners now.

The most finely dressed man moved forward on a large bay destrier. He wore a cloak made of black bear skin, fastened with a chain of green tinted metal. His hair was dark, and his face long and lean. Dark eyes with a look that was borderline playful and borderline wolfish observed them.

She knew him. He was the man who threatened Ser Meryn and Ser Boros when the Hand stopped the king from beating her after her brother defeated the Lannisters.

“It's been a while. Come have a nice hot meal.”

She stared at the man who was the most finely dressed. She reached up and lowered her hood. She rested a hand on Sandor's wrist. She could feel his irritation and anger, but this was not a situation for swords.


	22. Sandor IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would love to crush _Lord Stokeworth's_ skull between both of his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my readers and reviewers. I appreciate all the feedback.

What was that damned sellsword after? He paced the length of the room he had been locked in after they took his sword and the little bird. His hands were bound by a very short chain. He was not in a dungeon anywhere, but he might as well be, locked in a room in irons. It was all his fault.

He wouldn't have been able to fight his way free with so many men there anyway. He had led her to her death. He said he would kill anyone who hurt her. Now he was in chains. He growled, holding in a howl. He would beat them all down, twist their heads off if she was hurt. 

She had bidden him to acquiesce. He was supposed to protect her. How could he protect her when he could not even see her. He had not seen her since they arrived several hours ago. He had not felt so trapped since his face was burned. He fought the urge to roar and bellow like a trapped animal. He had seen a spark of fear in her eyes when he was led away upon their arrival at the castle. Lord Sellsword had taken her by the elbow and led her away gently. She had been stiff with formality and her courtesies.

Where was she? Death would not stop him from avenging harm coming to her. Lord Sellsword had served Lord Imp who had been _forced_ to wed Sansa. He hoped for Little Bird that this man still served the Imp in some way. But she was married only in name if the little bird's tale about her husband not consummating had been true...and she also said she thought of him her wedding night. He was only taller than Lord Imp, not more comely, like her precious Knight of Flowers.

She had been white as that ivory dress she used to love so well when Lord Sellsword led her away. She had not shook, though, and she made eye contact with the sellsword, calling him by his title as he walked his horse next to them. They had politely conversed about nothing at all.

How he wished he had cut the man's throat as the queen had suggested might be pleasurable the night of the Blackwater. If he had, this would not be happening. But the very gleeful man had shot a man who had been running toward him while blazing with fire. He had been paralyzed by the burning man, and the sellsword had saved him. He could not kill him, not after he did that. He had not even thought of the queen's request again until he saw the man in the woods. He had not been able to think of staying on the battlefield after that happened, and he had fled, gotten drunk, fallen asleep, and tried to rescue a little bird. 

“Lord Stokeworth will see you, now.”

Sandor glared furiously. He would love to crush _Lord Stokeworth's_ skull between both of his hands. If Little Bird was hurt, it would be his fault for not taking the Riverroad. He thought it was safer not to take a chance on having to fight Jaime fucking Lannister, the potentially declawed lion. If he was declawed, he was nothing.

He followed the pathetic little man. This little cretin was a dead man.

“Sandor.”

Sandor felt his blood boil as he saw Sansa seated to the right side of the sellsword and a fat woman to the left, holding a squirming bundle. He breathed heavily, staring at her. She had leaned forward when he appeared, and she offered him a half smile. She looked alright from what he could see. 

There were ten guards in the room, and Lord Stokeworth. The guards were not the issue, but the sellsword was extremely dangerous. The man had fought with a sword in each hand on the battlefield. 

One of the men shoved against him. He shifted his feet and plowed his shoulder into the smaller man's chin, sending him sprawling to the floor. He lifted his foot.

“Sandor, no. Please.”

The soft chirps stopped him from smashing in the face of the small man. He snarled and took a few steps toward Sansa. 

“Lady Lannister, we are not going to hurt your shield, assuming he behaves himself.”

Sansa looked over at him with large blue eyes.

“I'm alright, Sandor. Everything will be alright. Ser Bronn is not going to do us any harm.” Her eyes shot to the sellsword.

“Why would you want to help us? The queen is no friend of ours.” Sandor asked, glowering at the man who remained on the ground as if he was afraid to move.

“Something we have in common. She offered a lordship for the return of Lady Lannister's or Tyrion's little heads. Already have a lordship and a castle.” 

“The queen no doubt was generous.” Sandor said, moving forward till he saw the knife in the sellsword's hand. Was he really supposed to believe any of this?

“Tried to have me killed by my new family. Tragic mistake that was—for them.”

He continued to breathe like a winded war horse. His hands were chained. He looked over her face desperately searching for any sign that she had been injured. There was so little that he could do for her without a sword and with his hands chained.

“I'm fine. Lord Stokeworth is not going to hurt us,” Sansa said, looking over at the other man. 

Sandor breathed out heavily.

“Coming right up in the world, aren't you, Lord Sellsword?” he growled.

Bronn nodded with a bright smile on his face. He leaned back in his cushioned chair.

“And who do you owe most for your pretty new castle?” Sandor asked, stepping over and kicking the small man who tried to make him take a knee to the sellsword.

“The same woman I owe for sending my good sister's husband to challenge me in a duel. The same woman who so recently enjoyed a naked penance walk through the streets of Kings Landing.” Bronn chuckled darkly. “I'm just sorry I missed it. Shaved all the hair off her body and sent her on a nice little barefoot walk from the Sept of Baelor to the Red Keep.”

Sandor lifted his head. How had the High Septon managed that one? Of course, if one of the more bizarre tales that had reached the Quiet Isle had been true, it might not be so difficult to explain. If Cersei had really been so stupid as allow the Faith to raise an army, she would be in real trouble. She was creating more foes to stab her in the back. Lord Tywin would never have done something so blindingly stupid, nor would have Ser Kevan.

“You thirsty?” Bronn asked, motioning to a man with a wineskin to go to Sandor.

Sandor glared at the skin, refusing to take it. He was tempted to pour it out on the ground.

“If I wanted you dead, I'd've done it by now,” Bronn said, leaning back in the chair like a king. “Go on. Take a drink and show him it's not poison.”

The servant did as he was bid and then offered the skin to Sandor again. He took it. He needed a good drink to drown out his stupidity in coming this way. But he was still not ready to take anything offered. He needed to keep his wits sharp to save Little Bird. He would drink himself silly when he got her safely to Clegane Keep.

“Truth is, someone else wants to see you.” Bronn said, taking a swig of red wine from his horn cup. “I was hoping you would join me for dinner.”

Servants began coming into the hall as soon as the word dinner was out of his mouth.

A whole sheep surrounded by potatoes and roasted onions was placed in the center of the table. Around it, loaves of bread and delicious looking roasted vegetables and meat stews. 

“I like that,” Bronn said. “What would be your pleasure, my dear Lady Lannister? I imagine there are better meals you've had, but I would not go looking for them in places you had them before.”

Sandor glared at the food being offered.

“I am sure that my shield is hungry as well.” Sansa said, looking at Sandor's shackles with a gentility in her eyes and expression.

“Aye. He's invited to the feast,” Bronn said. He carved off a piece of the roasted sheep and placed it on Sansa's plate. “If he promises to not be so eager to put me or any of my men in the ground.”

“Who wants to see us?” Sandor inquired, glowering at the men who removed his shackles. How he would love to break their skulls. The Imp's favorite sword would be able to kill the Little Bird with one swift slash of his blade which made any sort of fight more impossible than it already was. It was like being Joffrey's dog again. At least, this lord did not want to tear her clothes off and beat her. “Is your Lord Imp here?” 

It would be fun to shove a sword up that tiny bastard's arse for all the shit he did the last time he saw him. If the Imp was alive, he would make him less so. Not that it would improve his chances with Sansa. But she might enjoy ridding the world of one of the vile blond haired, green eyed shits. She was his mistress to obey.

“Just because the bastard is named for him don't mean he's here. Ain't seen him since he wanted me to fight the Mountain.”

Bronn piled some meat and onions onto his plate and poured a large cup of wine. He tore a hunk of bread off one of the loaves.

Sandor snorted. That man would have little and less chance against Gregor. He might be fast, but it would not save him. Gregor would take care of any man foolish enough to wound him mortally.

“That honor went to the Dornish snake prince. They took care of each other the way I hear it.”

Sandor glowered as he walked slowly toward the table. There was a chair next to Sansa that was not taken. He went slowly to her side. He took a place behind her. He would not eat. He might need to kill some of these men.

“Sandor, please sit down.” Sansa said. “The food looks and smells delicious. I would be honored to have you at my side.

Bronn grinned and motioned to the feast.

"I am at your side, Little Bird."

Sandor remained close, standing behind Sansa.

“Plenty for all. I think it is about time we shared another drink.”

A man with a crossbow came trotting into the hall. He walked the length with swift strides, and leaned close to Bronn's ear.

“Milord.”

“What is it?” Bronn asked, after chewing a large bite of mutton and taking a swig of wine.

“The guests with the gold is here.”

“You know what to do.” 

Sandor shifted again. He looked down at the blade hanging from the man's hip. If this was some trick, Lord Sellsword would be the first to die.


	23. Brienne II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Sansa was harmed in any way, there might be nothing she could do for Jaime. It would only matter that a Lannister man harmed Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: As with Mr. Martin's books, some events here are occurring concurrently with earlier chapters. The events here happen roughly during the same time period as the last two chapters.
> 
> A big thank you to all readers and reviewers as always. I enjoy reading all comments.

Brienne stared at the back of Jaime Lannister as he rode in front of her. She had seen her dream every night since she met up with him to rescue Sansa Stark—where Jaime died because of her. She would not let Jaime die. It was not his fault that Sansa had fled the city before he arrived.

He rode in front of her on a beautiful horse he had named Honor. For some reason, he had not worn his golden Kingsguard armor, but he wore the long white woolen cloak. He looked every inch a proper knight fulfilling his duty.

She shifted a little, thinking on everything that Jaime had told her about the Mad King and how he had come to be known as the Kingslayer. She did not know if she could believe it, but she believed that he changed. He was changed from the man that she had met. The man she had met had been one of the most handsome and loathsome she had ever known. He was not made to be in a cage, and had been kept captive far too long. 

She did not know for certain that she was taking him to his death. She had been sent to kill him if he refused to honor his vow to see Lady Catelyn's daughters to safety. Lady Stoneheart was not the Lady Catelyn that she had sworn to serve, the woman who freed the Kingslayer for no reason other than love for her daughters. She was a darker creature now. She saw slights and oathbreakers around every corner, believing the worst of everyone.

Ser Jaime had done everything he could for the Stark girls. He had done what he could to fulfill his vows to see the girls to safety. He had told her some about how he gained the submission of Riverrun. He had not broken his vow to Lady Catelyn to not raise his sword against Riverlanders or Northmen.

Brienne knew this, and she was delivering him into a potential trap. It was true what she had told him about the information about Sandor Clegane, the Hound, having Sansa Stark. But she did not have a clue where they might be. They might have gone any direction, though she had managed to see what might have been signs of them on her way to Pennytree. She had not been able to risk all his men following them. The Hound was known by all to be dangerous, and Lady Sansa was a young woman.

She shoved the thoughts of betrayal aside and shifted in her saddle as she saw smoke rising through the trees. It was that inn where all the children were now. They might have seen Clegane and Lady Sansa. They would go and ask.

“We must be near the Kingsroad,” Jaime commented, raising his golden hand to point toward the smoke. “That smoke is probably coming from the Inn at the Crossroads.”

Brienne stared at the handsome man. With his golden hair several inches long, he was only more handsome. She moved up to ride alongside his so she could cast sideways glances at him. She wondered if she should believe the tale she had heard from his squires.

“We might stop and make inquiries,” Brienne said, feeling the urge to be sick as she looked him over. How could she do this? She was betraying him. She would do what she could for him. He had done what he could for Lady Catelyn's daughters. He wanted to keep his word, though she had constantly insinuated that he was not going to keep his word. He had been of such enormous help to her, while others had only spit and shit for all her efforts.

Could it be true? Would he really have done what she heard from the squires? He was so handsome. He was so loathsome with his words, insinuating that he was strong enough to take her if she unchained him. She remembered his prowess with the sword before the brave companions saw fit to chop it off. No man had ever truly tired her in a match, though she had been trained well by her Master-at-Arms on Tarth. Ser Jaime could have any woman he wished with his handsome features. 

His vows of chastity she already knew were ones he had not kept. But his vow to Lady Catelyn, he had done everything he could to help in finding the girls. It was not his fault that they were gone when he arrived in Kings Landing. 

Her septa had always told her to heed her own eyes as she looked at herself in the mirror. He would want her physically as much as King Renly ever had. Why would he do something like what the squires had said? Why would he hit Red Ronnet for insulting her? Why would he defend her in such a way? Certainly, he would defend any member of his family violently if he felt it necessary, and had done so.

She ached at the thought of Renly, feeling tears briefly sting her eyes. He was the first man to ever treat her with any kindness. He did not seem to think it disgraceful that she was large and strong. He made her a member of his Rainbow Guard. She would seek Lady Sansa's permission the day that she knew she had a real chance to avenge her King's death. 

“Stop where you are, or you're dead,” a loud voice rang out.

Brienne pulled up, moving alongside Jaime.

“We're not here to harm any of you.” Jaime said. His eyes searched the forest.

A group of young boys rose out of the bushes. Every one of them held crossbows aimed at them. A taller boy stood in front of the group with five arrows stuck in the ground in front of him and a sixth nocked and aimed at Jaime's throat.

“What is your business here?” the oldest boy said, “And no lies, or I will put an arrow through your eye, Lord Kingslayer.”

“I was told that Sandor Clegane had captured Lady Sansa Stark. I made a vow to Lady Catelyn before her demise that I would return her daughters to her. I was informed by Lady Brienne that Lady Sansa would be killed if I did not come. I am coming to find her and take her to safety.”

The boy with the long bow kept his arrow trained on them. He looked like he had a great deal to say on the matter but was choosing to hold back.

“They aren't here. The Inn is full,” he said eventually, though he kept the arrow trained on Jaime.

“We don't want trouble,” Jaime said. “We will just continue our search in another direction.”

“Two horses passed from around Saltpans and south along the Kingsroad a few days past.” Archer said, lowering his weapon. He looked down slightly and tossed the arrow.

“Thank you,” Jaime answered. “We'll head that way.”

Archer waved to the other boys who turned and melted away into the forest. He plucked his arrows from the ground, returning them to a quiver on his back.

Brienne followed Jaime quietly to the Kingsroad. She could scarcely take her eyes off him. She took a deep breath. Why would Ser Jaime Lannister, widely reputed to be one of the most handsome men in the seven kingdoms, defend her honor from the man who broke his engagement with her? Why would he care to do that? What is just _something stupid_?

Jaime pulled to a stop when they reached a small open area. He pulled a piece of parchment out of his bag and a small bottle of ink and quill. He penned a quick message. 

Brienne shifted, remembering Jaime as he jumped into the bear pit when she had only been given a blunted sword to defend herself by Vargo Hoat. She was glad that Hoat was dead. She was glad that she avenged Jaime by killing the man who maimed him. She wondered if it would have been better had she simply unchained him as he had so desperately desired. She had thought the risks of doing that had been too great at the time. His skill with his sword, even while chained had proven that he was dangerous. She shook herself from those thoughts. He had shown honor to her, and she was deceiving him.

“What are you doing?” Brienne asked, riding her horse forward a few steps.

“Writing a letter to Lord of Stokeworth. He will keep an eye out for them if he is promised enough gold dragons.” He attached the small note to the raven's leg and tossed it into the air. 

Jaime squeezed hard with his legs, and his horse shot to a canter.

Brienne squeezed firmly, urging her horse to a fast canter to catch up to the knight. She would do everything that she could for him. She would not let them put Jaime to death without a fight.

“You've been very quiet since we left to save Lady Sansa,” Jaime said, backing his horse up into a trot.

“I hadn't noticed,” Brienne responded, patting the plain bay mare's neck as she eased her back to stay at Jaime's side.

“I'm glad that I trusted you with my honor. I thought it would be very difficult to find Lady Sansa.”

Brienne shifted, feeling the heavy weight of awkwardness brought on by her now scarred face. She had not been beautiful before Biter took a chunk of flesh out of her face. She had not lost anything. But somehow being next to Jaime who could be thoughtlessly honest with his words brought more self-consciousness, especially after she heard how many times she had been told that she called for him while she was delirious from her bite wounds.

They rode quickly for the next hour before slowly up to not over exhaust their horses. Brienne's mind was working almost as rapidly as her horse was running. She wanted to tell him about Lady Stoneheart's identity. She wanted him to know everything that had happened on her search for Sansa, but she did not want to kill him. If she told him and he tried to make a run for Kings Landing, she would have no choice but to kill him. She blinked back her pain.

Jaime eased his horse back to a trot, and Brienne slowed to stay at his side.

“Jaime—”

He waited for her to ride up alongside him. He had slowed his horse to a quick walk.

“Nevermind,” she said, urging her horse to a trot. She could not tell him, not with what she had heard from the Piper and Paege boys. 

“If we ride well, we will be able to easily reach Stokeworth in two days at the least and two and a half at the most. With any luck, they will know something of Lady Sansa.” 

“Yes,” Brienne agreed, looking to her side and seeing Jaime's golden hair gleaming in the brief flash of sun as it passed through a sliver in the cloud. She knew nothing of the new Lord Stokeworth at all. “You trust this Lord Stokeworth?”

“I trust his desire for money.” Jaime answered, urging the horse slightly faster. “Let's pace the horses and get there as soon as possible. I'm hoping that we can catch them and get Lady Sansa to safety. Preferably before any harm comes to her.”

“What kind of harm?” Brienne asked, feeling a twinge of dread in her stomach. If Sansa was harmed in any way, there might be nothing she could do for Jaime. It would only matter that a Lannister man harmed Sansa. It would not matter that Jaime tried to save her if she died.

Jaime shifted a little as if he was remembering something he would rather not have to consider at that moment. He looked like he was fighting a panic.

“The Hound has gone rabid since he slipped his leash.”


	24. Gendry II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clegane had the knife at his throat.

The coins jingled in the bag hanging from his saddle. The pounding of the horse hooves and the crunch of snow were all that could be heard. He felt a strong gratitude for the large number of smallfolk who were always eager to help the Brotherhood. They had been informed that the pair had been taken captive of Lord Stokeworth.

Gendry glowered at the castle as they broke from the edge of the trees, riding toward the main entrance to the castle. He looked up at the banner. A sheep and a cup.

He hated having to give up such a sum for a ransom. Who knew how much this lord would ask? The money would be put to better use acquiring food, difficult as it would be, for the orphans. Instead, they were paying it to the lord of some castle who had stopped Clegane and Lady Rowena. Even if they had better numbers, they still would not be able to take the castle, not with it being so near to Kings Landing. Their informer claimed that Lady Rowena was Lady Sansa, just as he had suspected. He said his Lord had known Sansa personally from his time in the Red Keep, serving Tyrion. It sounded more like a lord looking for easy money. Harwin would know the truth of it; he truly would know Sansa, and she would know him.

He would have to find a way to tell her about her sister, and how he was going to stay with her till he was certain that she was in no danger, whatsoever. Then he would be able to go and find her sister. He would tell Arya that her sister was well and safe. Arya would come with him, or knowing Arya, he might have to drag her. He smiled, remembering the time that he told her that she should not insult people who were bigger than her and how she had shoved him down. He had never known a girl like her.

“What is your business here?” 

“We're here to ransom the people Lord Stokeworth has recently taken captive.”

“You need to leave your weapons there.” A man called down from the top of the wall near the port cullis. “Do you have money?”

Gendry rode forward and held up the bag, jingling the contents.

“Two hundred gold dragons.” Gendry said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes under the new bull head helm he had fashioned. “Assuming that you have what we want.”

The man on the wall nodded. He had a rather cheerful grin on his face. Few people were ever surprised by a visit from the Brotherhood. It was well known that they had a network of informers perhaps to rival even the Spider's former network running as powerful as all the rivers of the Riverlands.

“What you want is under Lord Stokeworth's guest protection.” The man swung his legs over the side of the wall, leaning on one of the crenellations. He swung a crossbow with seeming carelessness.

Gendry looked down the line of the wall and saw more than two dozen crossbows pointed at them. He still rolled his eyes.

What did guest right mean anymore, after what the Freys had done to Lady Stoneheart and Lady Arya's brother? He was always happy to assist in the hanging of any Freys. They were scum. Clegane was scum for taking her. If she was dead, Gendry held in his rage. He would kill Clegane if he had harmed Arya.

“Just leave the weapons here,” Gendry said, scowling at the others. His vengeance had waited for months already. What was a few more hours?

“That's the spirit,” the man called, signaling to people on the other side of the wall.

They all dismounted, and moments later the gate rose slowly with a loud clanking.

“Lord Stokeworth is just sitting down to dinner. Extra places have been set in the hope of more company.” The man led the way through to the great hall. “Your horses will be well cared for. There is no need for you to guard them.”

Gendry held the money tightly as they all followed the men through the port cullis which was lowered directly after they were all through.

“This way,” the man said, leading them to the great hall.

The lord of the castle sat with Lady Rowena to one side, and the giant Clegane stood behind her. The Lord of Stokeworth wore a slightly puzzled frown for a moment. Then he smiled, setting his cutlery down and standing up. He wore a sword at his hip, and his lean wolfish face had a dangerous look. He cast a look toward the guard behind them.

“You,” Sandor rasped, glowering at the boy. He looked ready to chop Gendry to pieces, but he had no sword with which to hack.

Gendry did not respond. He felt the fury boil in him. He would string Clegane up himself by the neck with his own entrails if necessary. He was repellent. He looked around the hall, not liking that he was unarmed and the number of guards with swords and crossbows, lining the walls. He would get Clegane soon enough. He had to keep Sansa safe.

“Ser Gendry?” Sansa said, looking him over. She glanced over her shoulder at Clegane.

“Lady Sansa,” Gendry came toward her and took one knee. “I am happy that you are safe.”

The young woman, Lady Sansa, had eyes like ice as she lifted her chin proudly. She glowered at him, leaning back in her chair upon which Clegane rested one of his hands.

“She is for now,” Bronn said, placing a hand on his sword.

“And will remain safe,” Gendry said, tossing the bag on the table.

“How much are you paying?” Bronn asked, picking it up and smiling at the sound of the clinking of coins. "There are many offers for Lady Lannister."

“There is two hundred gold dragons,” Gendry said, looking up at Lady Sansa. He would wait to be free of this Lord and so much company before he told her about Arya.

Clegane bristled and snarled a little as he stared at the money now playfully moving through Bronn's fingers before he flipped it in the air and caught it.

“Lady Sansa Lannister,” Bronn motioned to her after passing the gold to a man in a maester's chain behind him. 

The lady shifted back as Clegane stepped forward. She was looking at the man to the left behind him.

“Harwin?” her voice was soft as a whisper. “Harwin?”

“Lady Sansa, you will be alright.”

“Where have you been?” Sansa's voice was cold. "They killed every northman in the Red Keep."

“With Lord Dondarrion, as your father sent me to see to the arrest of Ser Gregor Clegane. It is Ser Harwin now. I want you to come with me.”

“Everyone wants the Lady of Winterfell.” She placed her fork down gently across her plate and dabbed her lips with a napkin and tucking it into her lap where her other hand had slid.

“Please, Lady Sansa—”

“If you are one of Dondarrion's men, you are an outlaw.”

“Lord Dondarrion was a good man.” Gendry spoke up. “He saved many of those orphans you met back at the inn, the same as Lady Stoneheart. She does not mean any harm to you.”

“I'm sure no one means to harm me,” Sansa said, her voice cutting like ice. “Everyone says that. _I want to help you get home._ Only one person has been completely honest with me since I left Winterfell, and he is at my side.”

Clegane was bristling behind her. He glanced down at her, with a softened look. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Lady Stoneheart was your mother,” Harwin said. “You must believe me, Sansa. You know me.”

“My mother was killed by Lord Frey while she was under protection of guest right. Do you think that Joffrey would fail to tell me the whole story with a smile on his face, the same way he looked when the queen mentioned the other wolf that was in the camp? He happily told me how they mutilated Robb's body. All the Lannisters were having a very good laugh about it.” Tears rose in her eyes, and she moved her hand to touch Clegane's where it rested on her shoulder.

Clegane took to one knee stiffly at her side as she moved his hand to her lap.

“My Lady, please may we speak privately?” Gendry asked, staring at her. 

“There is always someone listening," Sansa said, looking toward the ceiling. She was playing with something concealed in her lap. 

What game was that monster playing? She needed someone honorable, someone who wished to serve her for love of her family, not lust. Clegane hoped for some sort of physical reward for this whole journey, no doubt.

Gendry felt a burst of sorrow in his chest as he saw Clegane whisper poison in her ear. He shifted to try to get a better idea of their interaction. She was listening to him, and her hand was on his shoulder.

“He took your sister! He kidnapped her and probably killed her.” He moved to both of his knees.

“I know of Sandor's time with my sister, and I know he did not hurt her. I know he would never hurt my sister.”

Sansa looked down at Clegane and moved his hand. He briefly thought he saw a flash in the man's hand. 

Gendry felt his blood boil higher. She was being tricked by the man. He had to take her away from the monster.

He glared at the smug lord who sat to Sansa's side. 

“Please, milady. I swear that we are telling you the truth.” Gendry said, staring directly at her. He was glad she did not look like Arya. He would not have been able to gaze upon her without feeling the weight of betraying Arya more strongly.

“Why should I believe that?”

“I'm a knight,” Gendry said. “Knights don't lie.”

Sansa laughed bitterly and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She looked like she would cry as she turned so her body faced Clegane more.

Gendry looked over at Harwin who looked somewhat put out. He seemed to have no idea how to deal with this new Sansa.

“Lady Sansa—”

“Do we have a choice?” Sansa asked, looking at the party of four who would reunite a mother and her daughter. Her eyes darted to the men lining the walls. She slid her hand across Clegane and placed it on his wrist.

Clegane looked like a vicious dog, reveling in the attention of his mistress as he knelt by Lady Sansa's side. She had placed a hand on his shoulder and slid it to touch his neck under the burned side of his monstrous face. He did not chance a glance at her face, keeping his eyes instead locked on the four of them. He rose to his feet, causing her hand to slide from his shoulder.

“I promise no harm will come to you.” Gendry said. He rose and walked around the table quietly toward her.

Clegane rumbled, moving to put himself between Gendry and Sansa.

Gendry took a step back as his eyes caught on the knife in the other man's hand.

“You stop there, Knight.” Clegane had the knife at his throat.

Gendry looked at Sansa. He could not help wondering if Lady Sansa might know why her father, the Hand, had come to see him, why he had been put to death so quickly after he did so. He could not ask her now. Maybe he never would be able to ask her. He would keep her safe for Arya, even if he never found the moment to ask her.

“I will defend you, I swear it, from anyone who would harm you. Please, milady. I want to keep you safe.” He kept his eyes locked on her face.

“In return for what? I have nothing and less to offer you for your service. You are not a Northman. You are not sworn to House Stark. Why would you want to defend me?”

Gendry looked around at the others. How could he tell her about Arya, how Arya had helped Hot Pie and him escape from Harrenhal and Roose Bolton?

“It's a private matter,” Gendry said. He would tell her what happened to him. Whether she believed the truth, it was all he had to convince her of anything. He remembered Arya and how she had rather attached herself to his side when it became clear that the queen wanted him as much as she likely wanted her. “If I might be permitted to speak with you alone, milady.”

“Sandor will stay with us.” Sansa said. “If you mean to serve me, it will mean spending time with Sandor. I trust him with my life.”

Gendry felt his pulse race.

“My Lord,” Sansa looked at the Lord.

“Why do I have to piss off from me own hall?” he asked, taking a large bite from one of the roasted onions. “You can meet with him here, and I'll stay. Everyone else out.” At the hesitant look from the guards, he waved a hand. “Out. You, too, wife. I like a little entertainment with a meal.”

They filed out and shut the doors behind them. The members of the outlaw band remained.

“Speak.” Sansa kept her eyes locked on him.

Gendry went to his knees. He looked up at her.

“Not so long ago, I was an apprentice to an armorer in Kings Landing. One day, for no reason I know, my master, Tobho Mott became tired of me, I suppose. He sent me to take the black for no reason he ever told me.” Gendry took a deep breath. “We were riding up the road when some Goldcloaks from Kings Landing arrived, looking for some member of our group. Turned out it was me. The Queen wanted me to come back to Kings Landing to lose my head. I never did anything wrong, and she wanted to kill me.”

She watched him closely and took a deep measured breath as she raised her chin.

“The Queen wants me dead for no reason I know. If she would kill one innocent man, why would she care about killing another? We are both wanted by the Queen. If you are her enemy and I am her enemy, I thought we might be links of the same chain.”

She looked up at the large man next to her.

A smith was always valuable. It had prevented any harm from coming to him when the Mountain took Arya, him, and Hot Pie captive. It was all he had ever wanted to be. He loved everything about his work. He was an asset to her. She could not turn him away.

“Sandor?”

Gendry looked up at the large man. He looked over at Sansa. She knew. She had to know why the queen wanted him dead.

Clegane shrugged and grunted, “He is the type that the queen and former king would want headless.”

Gendry shook a little, looking up at Clegane. The Hound knew why they wanted his head. How could that monster know?

“Please, let me take you to your mother.” Gendry said. “I know it seems impossible. But I swear to you that it is true.”

"You will serve me?"

"Yes," Gendry said, staring into her eyes. _For Arya._


	25. Sansa X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa felt her breath hitch, wondering if he would be more gentle with his kiss this time.

Lord Stokeworth—Ser Bronn had insisted that they stay night and break their fast with him. He had spoken to her when he had separated her from Sandor the day before. He had seemed to feel some sort of responsibility for her because of her husband. He mentioned what the queen did to him at length and why. He also laughed and said that in a twist of events, she had made him Lord of Stokeworth. But he would not forgive her for trying to have him killed. 

The Queen truly was a fool—just as Petyr said. Sansa had never believed it more than after she heard that story, sending someone to kill a man—for no more than his choice of a name for a bastard child. It was nothing but insolence on his part; she had watched Ser Bronn take uneaten food off Tyrion's plate on more than one occasion. 

She shifted, scratching behind the mare's ear when she lowered her head. She glanced around at their new companions. There was no easy way to escape the four of them without killing them. Surely, Harwin would not lead her into a trap. There had been true sincerity in Gendry's story. Jeyne was a young woman doing her best to help care for all those orphans. The only man she was unsure of was Lem, but with Gendry, Harwin, and Sandor, any threat potential from him was more than neutralized.

Ser Gendry had kept his eyes on her the entire morning. He looked at her as if she was some kind of salvation. He had a vested interest. His interest in her was about more than simply the two of them being mutual enemies. She shifted, thinking on his actions when he was brought before them in the great hall of Stokeworth Castle. He had been angry or pained deeply when he spoke of Sandor taking her sister, whatever those emotions might mean. 

She hovered close to Sandor, keeping quieter than usual. She did not doubt the bastard boy's desire to keep her safe, though his story had seemed somewhat incomplete, and only more incomplete the more that she thought about it. He surely had reasons for that—reasons she would winkle out of him in time. 

She still disliked the way he looked at Sandor. He looked as if he would like to harm Sandor. She was certain that he would die in the attempt. She wanted no more death. She was tired of death. Lady, her father and his men, her sister, her little brothers, the Hound, her mother and older brother. Her whole family had died—because of Lannisters and Greyjoys and Freys. Some were slowly coming back to her. Some were unknown. She would not allow harm to come to those she cared for, not if she could stop it.

A few flakes of snow were spiraling in the soft wind. Her breath created tiny foggy clouds. They stood between their two horses, her mare and his enormous courser. She would not be able to ride in his arms at all. Their companions would not view that well, but to his credit, Lord Stokeworth had not said a word about how he had originally found them riding.

She had heard the story of the finding of her mother the evening before. Gendry has insisted upon speaking to her in her chamber. She remembered the hostility in his eyes when she said that Sandor was not leaving her side, but he had deferred to her. She had offered him some wine and listened to his story. It had seemed completely insane, and it still did. But she wanted her mother.

Gendry had said nothing about Arya, and it was torture. Arya was her sister, and she had mostly been unkind to her. She remembered how angry she had been when her sister stained a stupid dress the queen gave her. He had mentioned knowing that Sandor had taken her. How long had he been with her? What had her baby sister been through? Arya was so strong; she just had to be alive.

She reached for Sandor's arm as soon as he finished securing a girth strap on Stranger. She drew it close to her chest for a minute.

“You think they are telling the truth?” She slid her hand up and down the inside of his arm.

“I saw Dondarrion spring back to life after I nearly cleaved him in two. From the look of it, he should have been dead several times over, but that red priest kept bringing him back to life.”

Sansa linked her fingers through his and stroked his forearm. She might have her mother, in some way, or it might be some monster had taken over her mother the same as in the stories Old Nan used to tell about Wights and White Walkers that her brother Bran had so loved. She would have to wait and see.

“I won't leave you, Little Bird. I'll keep you safe. I'm your dog now.”

Sansa felt hurt as she remembered how Joffrey would call him dog or hound, isntead of by his name. He had been treated like an animal, even when he was given a white cloak after poor Ser Barristan Selmy had been the first knight ever dismissed from the Kingsguard. She wondered if Ser Barristan would have stood by while Joffrey tortured her—everyone knew the tales of Barristan the Bold. But he had served King Aerys when her grandfather and Uncle Brandon had been killed. She shook her head to remove the thoughts. He had known the Lannisters when he was dismissed. He had not even tried to take her. She shook her head to remove the thoughts. She had Sandor, and Sandor was worth any ten knights.

“I would rather have you as the Captain of my Guard and personal protector, than my dog.” Sansa said, wondering if she should have said such. A dog was welcome to sleep at the side of his mistress. She blushed a little at the memory of waking her first day in his arms on the horses. A mistress might hug her dog, pet him, kiss his head, and feed him from her hand. But a Captain of the Guard was a place of honor. It showed the depth of her respect for him. It made him the man that she always wanted by her side, keeping her safe and offering her counsel. 

Sandor removed his arm gently from her hold. He did not look at her for a moment. He placed his hands gently on her waist and lifted her up to her saddle.

She let her hands linger on his shoulders, feeling the loss of physical hold keenly when he moved away. It was comforting to feel such strength and know that it would never and had never harmed her.

“Clegane, we should talk,” Bronn said, stepping forward.

Sandor shifted, giving the other man a glare for a moment. He unsheathed a dagger and handed it to her.

“I'll be right back, Little Bird,” he said, arranging her cloak over her legs so the dagger was concealed.

He stepped back till her hand fell from his shoulder.

“Yes,” she chirped softly, watching him as he walked away. She hoped he understood what she had meant. He was more than a dog. He was a good man. He was always physically gentle with her as if he was worried she would break.

She looked around the courtyard at the others in their group, Harwin, whose father had been Master-of-horse at Winterfell since before she was born, a man with a repellent yellow cloak and a foul stench about him called Lem, Ser Gendry Waters, and Jeyne Heddle.

They were a small group. Their extra numbers might be favorable in terms of protection or bring down a larger group on them. 

Sandor had mentioned wanting to try to slip away in the night, but if her mother was alive in some form—she had to see her. She had wanted her mother since she lost Lady, and the ache had only become greater after her sister disappeared and Joffrey killed her father. She felt the tears rise in her eyes, remembering how her father had looked at her right before he was beheaded. He looked so powerless. 

She shifted, trying to think of a better memory of her father, one of him with Ice at his side while he sat on the ancient Stark seat, listening to the petitions of the lords who gave him their fealty. How she had tripped playing with Robb that day, hurting her ankle. She had cried for her father. He had come and allowed her to sit his lap quietly. He kissed her tiny brow. That had been the day that word of the Greyjoy rebellion had arrived. She begged him to stay with her the rest of the day. She remembered how she cried the next morning to wake and find he was gone. He had left a little note on her pillow that she made Maester Luwin read to her every day until he came home. He had scooped her up in his arms and allowed her to pepper his cheeks with kisses.

Sansa shook her thoughts away. She could not stand to think on such memories too long, or else she was reminded of other memories of the last months of her father's life and how horrible and ungrateful she had been to him.

Sansa shifted, watching Sandor and Bronn. They were deep in conversation. She wondered what they could be talking about so in depth. She strained her ears but could make out none of the conversation, nor could she see either of their faces well enough to determine what it might be about.

“Milady.”

“Yes, Ser Gendry.” She tightened her hold around the hilt of the dagger Sandor had given her.

“I was hoping to speak with you, milady.”

She cast a glance over at Sandor. She looked back at the boy, the boy who could tell her a little something of what her sister had been through. Sandor said he had seen them together. He had known her sister.

“Of course,” she said, reaching down to pet the mare's neck. Would he talk about Arya?

He was quiet for a moment, gazing up at her.

“I'm so sorry—”

“Time to get on the road,” Sandor said, moving quickly toward them. He gave Gendry a rough shove. “Hurry, Boy.”

Sandor was tense. She could see his irritation and also an air of confidence and perhaps even amusement.

She felt a twinge, wishing she could be seated behind him. She was not much of a rider, never had been. She did not like the tension in his muscles or the set of his jaw. 

“Stay close to me, Pretty Bird.”

Sansa looked into his eyes. What was going on? 

“What is it, Sandor? Please tell me.” Sansa did not think she could take any more secrets, any more lies. She touched his wrist after he mounted Stranger.

“Lord Sellsword thinks Jaime Lannister is in the area and looking for you.”

Sansa felt a shiver of dread go through her at the thought of that particular knight being close. He nearly unhorsed Sandor. He was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He was the reason that her father had been lamed. She bit back her nerves, remembering how Sandor had unseated the Kingsguard knight in his second tilt at her first tourney. She had known he would win as she told everyone. 

“I'll kill him if he tries to hurt you,” Sandor said, moving the horse closer to hers. He reached out as if he would bury his fingers in her hair at the back. 

Sansa felt her breath hitch, wondering if he would be more gentle with his kiss this time. She did not close his eyes. He preferred her to look at him. She tilted her chin softly to the side as his fingers moved past her face. She moved a hand to his wrist, moving her cheek to his palm for a moment. She moved her other hand and placed it below her first.

Sandor paused and brushed his thumb over the top of her cheek just under her eye.

She smiled, pressing closer into his hand for a moment. She tilted her face up and rubbed her lips together. There was a strange heat in her stomach as she looked into his gray eyes. He moved his face closer until the sound of a clearing throat interrupted the moment. She smiled sadly at Sandor. 

He slid his hand to her hood and lifted it.

“Thank you, Sandor.”

He grunted softly to acknowledge her. He was looking any direction but at her again. She thought he was going to kiss her. What had she done to make him kiss her the last time?

“Enough talking for now, Little Bird. We must ride.”

She nodded as his hand moved to his own hood, fixing it on top of his head and wrapping a scarf around his face. 

They rode for the trees at a soft canter though the powdery snow. As soon as they were under cover, they would have to slow.

Sansa could not help thinking what value Jaime Lannister was worth as a hostage. She knew he had been hostage to her brother for nearly a year. She had been glad to learn that the Kingslayer had been captured. But she did not know if she dared test the queen. Robb had an army of twenty thousand to protect him, and it had not been enough to survive the Lannisters. She did not know if they would be able to hold the Kingslayer if they found him. It might send a better message to kill him. It would be a start to avenging her father and brother. 

Guilt pooled in her heart and stomach making her feel ill. She breathed a little harder. She did not really know Ser Jaime, and she had wished him dead. Had Littlefinger influenced her more than she had realized? When did the killing end? Was one undeserved death solved by another? There were some who should die for their crimes, but killing someone who never hurt her just because of what their sibling had done would make her no better than Joffrey. She remembered the throne room where she was often punished for her brother's victories. 

She remembered her question to Septa Mordane about her grandfather and uncle, one of the few that the woman had known the answer to and been unwilling to answer. _Why were they killed?_

They rode silently for several hours alongside a frozen stream. 

She glanced over at Gendry from time to time. The point of spiking his head was obvious, but no less wrong. He had not known his father was King Robert. He only wanted to be an armorer. He would cause no trouble, but someone with a brain would easily be able to point out his resemblance. She would keep him close to her side so long as he proved himself true to her. He was valuable.

Wondering about Gendry's loyalty made her remember the stories her father had told to Robb and Jon and Theon when she was not supposed to have been listening.

He had been telling of the strength Robert had had with his war hammer and how he had caved in Rhaegar's chest, among others during battles. She had been terrified for days, until her father came and held her and kissed her brow. He asked her why she had been having nightmares. She told him, clutching his neck and kissing his cheek. He had smiled comfortingly at her, petting her hair. He told her of Robert's loyalty and friendship, how they had been fostered together by Lord Jon Arryn in the Eyrie. He told her that the only thing greater than Robert's anger was the strength of the bonds of his friendships, and Robert was his dear friend. 

Ser Gendry was a blacksmith by trade. He had an enormous right arm. He was assuredly strong and tall just as his sire had been in his prime. If he proved as loyal to her as her father claimed Robert had been to him, then she had secured a valuable ally. She did not dare question Gendry or make unnecessary noise with the potential of the kingslayer being so close. 

She tucked her cloak about her more tightly as a northern wind whistled through the trees. She wished she could focus more on what was going on around her, but her mind kept wandering to the new companions and the people she had left behind and those who left her. Sandor had found his way back like a good dog, and Harwin was with her now, though he was an outlaw. She did not know Lem, but she knew Harwin and Sandor. Ser Gendry had sworn his sword to her. She wondered when he would prove his word, if his words meant anything. The words of most men she had known had proven less true than the wind that made them.

CRACK.

A spooked red fox burst from the trees, dashing across the path in front of them and leaping across the stream. Sansa's mare reared, breaking from the formation and plunging into the trees, screaming as she jumped a fallen log. Sansa was thrown forward across the horse's neck. She clutched tightly and as best she could as the horse careened through the white woods. She could hear other horses and some cursing. She looked to her left and saw Sandor riding close.

She got a small burst of courage at seeing he had come after her and managed to reach her hand forward to get a grip on reins and pulled the horse to a stop. She closed her eyes and whimpered, remaining spread across the neck of the horse. A few tears leaked out. She was not a horse rider. Arya would have loved a run like that through the woods.

“You're alright, Little Bird.”

“Milady, are you injured?” Harwin asked, taking the reins of her horse.

Sansa shook her head. She pushed her hands down on the horse's whithers, trying to regain her seat. Her hand slipped and she fell on the horse's neck again. Opening her eyes, she saw Sandor. 

Sandor reached over, gathering her close as he lifted her from her horse to sit in front of him. He brushed some snow off her cloak. He kept her close, resting his cheek on her head gently for a moment.

She leaned into him with a loud sigh, sliding her arms around his chest. She whimpered softly.

“Do you want to ride with me for a little while?” he asked. His voice rumbled and vibrated against her cheek. His hand cupped her cheek as she trembled.

Sansa nodded, opening her eyes to gaze up at him.

“You're alright now, Little Bird.”

Sansa ignored the grunt from Harwin as Sandor helped her arrange herself comfortably in the saddle.

“I'd be lost without you,” she whispered against his chest. He had saved her from Alayne. A warm blackbear fur was draped around her shoulders. She could hear his heart and shifted. She wondered if he heard what she had said.

A loud snort cut through the relative silence that fell along with a number of heavy foot falls of horses.

“Milady, are you well?” 

Sansa looked into the bright Baratheon eyes and nodded as she tightened her arms around Sandor. It was safer to be close to him. She was warmer in his arms.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” his voice was soft as he directed his gelding close.

Stranger lunged out and snapped at the other horse.

“Keep your horse away from Stranger. He'll take a good chunk out of the poor beast.”

“I'm fine,” Sansa said. “I just want to get moving and see my mother. I will ride with Sandor.” She was going to see her mother. Her mother would help with everything that had happened. Her mother would know what to do. She missed her. She would not hurt her protector.

She jerked in Sandor's arms and stared into the forest. She could have sworn that she saw movement. She thought she saw—green eyes watching her. But then it was gone.

“Let's go, please, Sandor. Please.” She looked where she thought she saw the eyes, but she did not see them again. She had probably imagined it. Green eyes watching her was on her mind with the thought that a knight of the Kingsguard was so near and looking for her. He would give her to his sister who would enjoy beheading her. 

Sandor looked around at the rest of the group.

“Let's move. I do not like to keep her out in this cold. There is a small cave some hours ahead where we can stay the night.”

She saw dirty looks being directed at Sandor from Harwin and Gendry. Lem did not look disgusted and distrustful as the others did, but his look was equally unsettling. Jeyne simply averted her eyes.

Sansa leaned closer to Sandor, enjoying the warm cocoon that was being created by his arms. She had imagined the eyes. No one was there, and even if someone was, she had Sandor to protect her and he had her.


	26. Gendry III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don't you ever use that word about _my_ Lady.”

She had ridden pillion with the monster all the way back to the Inn. She rode with her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades and her arms clutching his waist. 

Gendry glowered at them. He swore to serve her. He had to protect her from a monster she was willfully being blind to. 

Lady Sansa would do better to ride with a real knight, a man who would not gaze upon her as a bed-warmer. She was a lady, not a camp follower or a whore. She ought to be respected. He felt a sneer as he remembered seeing Clegane taking pleasure with Sansa's name on his lips. It was repellent. He had known then who they were and that he had to save her.

Lem and Harwin had left them to contact Lady Stoneheart. Soon enough, justice would be here. Clegane would dangle by his neck till his feet quit kicking. He held in his anger. He would make sure that Sansa was not defiled by that monstrous man. Cleganes were all the same. He shifted remembering the Mountain that Rides. He had watched all those people tortured. Being a smith was all that had saved him from the same fate. He had been frightened that he would see Arya selected for questioning, and he would be unable to stop it.

“Would you care for a bath, milady?” Jeyne asked as they stopped in the yard of the inn.

Gendry glanced over at the pair again. He dismounted quickly. He was not fond of or skilled at riding horses as it was. He was glad to be on the ground again. He would help Lady Sansa get down. He would show her a true knight. He held in his thoughts about her reaction to him telling her that he was a knight. What would make her feel so discouraged and distrustful of knights? What made that light of fear dance in her eyes?

Clegane glowered at him as he moved to help her down. The large man Arya had so hated grasped Lady Sansa by the waist with a gentle firmness as he turned. Arya said Clegane was a murderer. He would hurt Sansa.

She placed her hands on his shoulders. 

Gendry moved to take her. He would need to speak with her and convince her to get rid of Clegane. He did not know how to turn her against her favorite. She trusted the murderer. Gendry had only ever killed to save lives.

“A bath would be very nice,” Sansa said, looking into the scarred face. It was almost like she was inviting him to come with her. Her hand pressed to the side of his neck, and she shifted, pulling herself slightly closer to him.

Gendry shook his head. Lady Sansa would not invite Clegane to join her. She was a lady, despite everything she had been through. She would not dishonor herself with someone like him. She was making sure that the great, stupid oaf knew better than to walk in on her like he had the next time. He reached to take her hips and help lower her from the giant courser.

“Will you be up shortly?” she asked, wiggling a little as Gendry touched her hips. Her arms shot for Clegane's neck and engulfed it as she pressed her cheek to his. She seemed to be trying to get away from him. He would not hurt her. He swore himself to her, but she did not seem to trust him.

“The knight is just helping you to the ground,” the Hound said, looking pleased with having her holding him. 

Gendry reached for her waist again.

Sansa slowly released him, and he leaned forward on his horse till he was able to settle her on her feet. She rested a hand on his thigh, gazing up at him. He dismounted and turned to her.

“I want you with me.” She wetted her lips with her tongue as she stared up at the ugly brute.

“Horses need to be fed and cared for. They will carry us to safety.” Clegane looked away from her after she licked her lips. He was doubtlessly thinking of her doing more, as if she would. He looked over at the horses instead.

Sansa nodded, biting her lip and blushing.

Gendry stared at the stiff back of the man as he led the perlino and the black horse to the stable. Probably off to think his vile thoughts and pleasure himself to thoughts of a Lady far too good for a twisted fuck like him. How dare he entertain thoughts like that! It was wrong. She should know what her sworn shield was out there thinking and doing.

She had no idea what he thought of her or what he wanted from her. She was too innocent to know or even suspect. She would not travel with him if she knew how despicable of a dog he was, but he would not easily convince her to cast her favorite aside. She treated the giant gently and kindly. He did not deserve her kindness or her smiles. Clegane wanted her, and he would take her as soon as it was convenient. How could she not see this?

He bowed his head to her as Jeyne led her inside to have a bath. He would have a private moment to make something clear to the giant of a man. He led his and Jeyne's horses quickly away from her so he did not have to think any more about all the times Clegane had almost kissed her. She looked like she might welcome a kiss from the ugly man.

He went into the stable, kicking a hunk of straw that had been soaked by snow or horse piss. He put each of the horses in separate stalls and took their saddles and bridles off.

Clegane was rubbing the giant warhorse with gentle purpose, to remove all the marks left from the long hours of travel. He ran his hands carefully over each of the stallion's legs to check for any swelling or areas of discomfort. Probably wanted to do the same to the lady he was 'protecting.' He would put a bastard in her belly and not care a whit for the child's wellbeing or hers.

Gendry saw red as he fought to control his temper. His temper had almost always gotten him into constant trouble.

He hung the saddles over the half walls dividing the stalls. He began rubbing the horses down to remove all the dirt and saddle marks. He began trying to find the words to say something to the man. He had to make sure he said it so that Clegane would understand that Lady Sansa was not fodder for his reality or his imagination. It was only after he felt satisfied that the horses had been properly taken care of that he spoke.

“I know what you want,” he said, finally breaking the silence of the stable. He crossed his arms, feeling a stubborn cast coming over his face.

The large man rolled his shoulders back and seemed to be holding in a temper. So Clegane had a temper. So did he. He could not help the concern that welled in him. What if that temper were to be unleashed on Lady Sansa? What if it had been unleashed on Arya? Arya had been a small girl. That giant could have killed her or Sansa with a single blow. He would not need a weapon to harm either of them.

The mare that was Sansa's and the black courser stood close, though only the mare was eating the hay left for both horses.

“I saw what you were doing after she left you,” Gendry continued, moving to block him from leaving the stable.

“What are you bleating about, boy?” Clegane's voice was raspy, and his eyes were dark with anger and a hint of something else that Gendry could not place entirely.

“I saw you touching yourself when you were last here, and I heard you moan her name.” Gendry said, holding himself as tall as he could. He still had to lift his eyes slightly to meet the other man's eyes. 

Clegane lifted his chin. He sneered, stepping forward bumping Gendry as he leaned down into his face.

“And you feel no desire for Lady Sansa's sister, the Wolf-Bitch as I called her?” Clegane's eyes lit as if he saw the truth of his words on Gendry's face.

Gendry's fist lashed out before he could contain his anger. How dare he speak of a lady that way knowingly? His fist never connected with the larger man's face.

“Don't ever call her that!” Gendry shouted, bringing his other arm around to beat the taller man. “Her name is Arya. ARYA of House Stark!”

Sandor brought his arm around, connecting his elbow to Gendry's jaw.

Blood dripped from his lip as he bit his lip on the impact of the elbow. He saw stars as he reeled backwards from the blow after Clegane released him for a moment.

“Seems like the fawn needs a lesson about dogs,” Clegane growled, grabbing Gendry and slinging him face first toward a wall post.

Gendry struggled furiously as Sandor grasped his right arm, twisting it around painfully to pin his wrist between his shoulder blades. Gendry gasped at the strain the awkward position of his arm was causing. He tried to shove back to get the powerful man off him. He only succeeded in getting the large man to grab his hair and pinch his head between a hand and the wall.

“Let go. Let go, and you'll pay for what you said.” Gendry stomped his foot down where he thought he could see Clegane's but he missed.

“You listen, boy. I could chop you to pieces standing on one foot and blindfolded. I will do worse to you if any harm comes to Sansa. Do you understand?” Clegane whispered in his ear. “No one will hurt Sansa.”

Gendry tried to stomp his foot again to wrench free of the powerful, pinching grip.

“I am loyal to Lady Sansa. I don't fantasize about making a whore—”

Gendry did not have time to gasp or stop himself as he was flung and crashed through the door of the stable to the yard in front of the inn. His whole body crumpled in the mud. He heard the slosh of boots stomping to him. He struggled to his knees and tried to rise as a foot collided with the side of his ribcage. He rolled to his side.

“Don't you ever use that word about _my_ Lady.” He pressed his foot down on Gendry's wrist. “I'll kill you if you use that word about her again.”

Gendry struggled to free his hand. He grasped a broken piece of spear and was about to stab it into the gap of the armor around the man's knee when another blow slammed into his ribs. 

Gendry fell away, coughing as he tried to catch his breath.

“Do you understand, boy?” Clegane wrenched the broken spear head from his hand and flung it away.

He was supposed to find out where Arya was. He would save her. Clegane took her from him.

Gendry got to his feet, wincing at the pain.

“Don't you ever—” he pulled his fist back.

His fist was captured with ease, and he was forced to his knees in the mud and snow. Clegane wrenched it enough to cause pain and perhaps bruise a little, but not hard enough to cause lasting damage. He had no chance against the enormous man. He did not know how to fight, to really fight. Lord Dondarrion was training him in the use of weapons when he gave up his life to return Lady Stoneheart hers.

Gendry roared and struggled.

“What did you do to Arya? Where is she?”

“What is going on?” a soft voice chirped and a gentle hand touched the wrist of the hand keeping him on his knees.

Lady Sansa was standing there, touching the Hound.

“Just coming to an understanding, right, boy?” 

The hand on his fist remained tight, but the large man's expression softened to a look akin to how a child might look a kitten taking its first steps.

Sansa brought her other hand to the underside of his wrist, and he loosened his hold.

Gendry pulled his arm back close, staring up at Sansa.

“Ser, I would appreciate an explanation.” Her words and eyes were cold. She moved, placing herself between him and Clegane. She kept her hand lightly resting on his wrist.

“We were coming to an understanding,” Gendry said, glaring at the large man. The only way he would be able to beat the man right now was with his blacksmith's hammer while he slept.

“About what? I will not have men who serve me fighting amongst each other. I have enough enemies without injuries being inflicted by people who are on the same side. There will be no more fighting.” 

Gendry panted heavily.

“I don't know where Lady Sansa's sister is, Boy. I was injured when she abandoned me, boy. I was trying to take her to the Eyrie to her aunt after old Walder Frey betrayed the Stark boy. I was delirious from pain and blood loss when she left me to die.”

“Are you satisfied? Sandor did not hurt my sister. He wouldn't.”

Gendry huddled on his knees, staring at the mud in which he sat.

“It's my fault—” Gendry whispered to no one. He had not been fast enough to save her from Clegane, only fast enough to see the man take her. He should have defended her from that dwarf witch who was being so hateful to her. He should not have joined Dondarrion and his men. He should have agreed to serve her brother to please her. She would be safe if he had done that.

The heavy sound of footsteps approaching and the rustle of branches drew his attention. A man on a horse led a group of twenty men into the clearing.

“I present Lady Stoneheart, leader of the Brotherhood without Banners.” Lem rode into the clearing in front of a small column of men.

Gendry looked toward Sansa. She had her mother.

Lady Stoneheart raised a hand to her throat, making what passed for her gurgling speech.

More crashing could be heard mingling with the clanking of armor and the heavy breathing of horses. Another group of horses burst into the clearing.

Twenty more men burst into the clearing.

"Lord Stokeworth?" Sansa asked, gazing toward the group.

"My Lady," the lord smiled his wolfish smile.


	27. Brienne III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Brienne, take the traitor captive."

Brienne felt a twisting in her gut as she sat astride her horse near Jaime in a column of fifteen men at the Inn at the Crossroads, the Clanking Dragon, Orphan Inn. She knew that Lord Stokeworth was delivering them Lady Stoneheart.

They had arrived by early mid morning at Castle Stokeworth two days prior. The lord of the castle said that the Hound had left earlier that morning with Lady Sansa. They had been taken captive by members of the outlaw band. Fear had gripped her firmly. She knew the danger that Jaime was in going to face the outlaws with only her at his back. She was the one who held the knife to it. She would not fail him.

She could not help wondering if Jaime had been correct and the group they saw in the forest had been Lady Sansa. There had been two girls with the group, and she had recognized Ser Gendry, the blacksmith who had saved her life from Biter, the monster who stole the Hound's helm. The other was the man who was now in possession of the Hound's former helm. Another was Jeyne, whom she had originally mistaken for Lady Sansa. The other two had been mysteries to her. One was a large man riding a black horse and the other obviously a younger girl whom the man had taken into his saddle. She had wrapped petite, feminine arms around his waist as they rode away.

The Brotherhood had found Sansa first, and Jaime was well and truly a walking dead man. She could not let him be killed for circumstances beyond his control. She would defend Jaime. Jaime had no way to win a battle of words with people so desperate to hang people just for wearing crimson cloaks. With his right hand only a memory, a battle of swords would end in death with these people. She had failed to protect Jaime once costing him something precious that had defined him. She would not fail him again.

She stared into the clear Tully blue eyes of the young woman standing at the side of Sandor Clegane. She held his wrist with both her hands. She was a beautiful young girl just as Lady Catelyn had described her. If she was the lady her mother had claimed, she would not kill Jaime. 

"My Lady—" Brienne began.

"Lady Sansa." Jaime broke in.

"Sansa—" Harwin called.

Sansa backed up behind Clegane. She had released her hold on him. She had wide nervous eyes and looked like a deer surrounded by lions. Her eyes were locked on Jaime. She looked like she was used to people wanting to hurt her when they wanted her at all.

"Sandor—" her voice was barely a whisper and inflected upward in fear. Tears glistened in her eyes as her breathing became slightly more shallow and fast. She looked as if she wanted to just hide under Clegane's cloak and not come out. She could not look away from Jaime. 

The man she named unsheathed his blade and backed her toward the porch. His face had become ferocious as he kept himself blocking her. Brienne could not help noticing that he was even larger than she was. She had never seen so large a man, though she had heard the Mountain was even larger. She placed a hand on her sword. She would defend Jaime from that man. He would not stand a chance. Stories of the Hound's fierce battle prowess were known all over Westeros.

Gendry, the smith boy, had found his feet with blood dribbling from his lip. He moved to stand by Clegane's side, blocking Lady Sansa.

A gurgling noise filled the air.

"I want my daughter brought to me." Harwin's clear voice spoke to translate."Lady Sansa, your mother will do you no harm."

"You're frightening her." Gendry said, glowering at everyone around them. They would not hurt Sansa. "It's alright. No one will hurt you, milady."

Sansa shook her head rapidly. She held Sandor's cloak softly in her hands. She looked frightened before a strange mask descended over her face. Her eyes looked like chipped pieces of ice. The fear was replaced by a coldness.

She stepped up between the two men who had sworn to serve her.

"Lady Sansa—"

Her eyes cut to the speaker. She placed a hand on the flat of Sandor's blade to stay him from lashing out.

"My Lady, may I approach?"

Children had appeared in all the windows, and most were aiming loaded crossbows at them.

Brienne felt her breath hitch. Lady Stoneheart was standing in the middle of the clearing with a group of almost two dozen men surrounding her. She looked at the lean wolfish face of the lord whom Jaime had paid one hundred dragons for the information about Lady Sansa and Clegane. A small amused smile rested on his lips. He had led them back here, knowing exactly what would happen.

She looked over at Jaime. He never thought before he did things. He did not listen. That was part of why he had come back to Harrenhal for her. It was why he jumped into the bear pit when she had had only a silk dress and a blunted tourney blade. He was not a bad man. He did not deserve to die for doing everything he could for Lady Catelyn's daughters. It was not his fault that his family had lied about having both girls. It was not his fault that Sansa had been married to his brother before he returned. It was not his fault that she had vanished.

Sansa had not responded. She stared around at everyone.

Brienne glanced over at Jaime again. His eyes were locked on Sansa. He swung his leg over his horse and dismounted slowly. He walked toward her.

"You're close enough, Kingslayer." Clegane's eyes looked like the sky that brought a thunder snow.

"Clegane, let's talk this out."

He barked a laugh.

"Shall I take him as your prisoner or just _shorten_ him, Li—my Lady?"

"Allow him no closer to me," Sansa said, ducking back under Sandor's arm. "But don't kill him."

"Let's everyone just calm down," Elder Brother said, raising his hands to show he held nothing capable of harming anyone.

The tension in the air was so heavy that it could almost be touched. Everyone seemed to have a weapon at the ready and aimed at someone. This might become a bloodbath. Songs never mentioned a rescue being this way.

Brienne walked slowly to Jaime's side. Her hand rested on the hilt of the blade he had given her, Ned Stark's great sword, Ice, had been used to make this sword. Oathkeeper, it was named. 

"Lady Sansa—I beg you to listen to me."

"That is close enough, Woman." A sword was leveled at her nose.

"Lady Sansa, may I present Brienne of Tarth, a warrior maid." Elder Brother gestured to Brienne.

Sansa looked her over quietly. She rested her hand on Clegane's where it wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

"I was a member of King Renly's Rainbow Guard."

Sandor grunted and rolled his eyes. Sansa placed a hand on the flat of his sword, lowering it gently.

"Lord Stannis killed my king, King Renly. I have sworn vengeance on him for what he did to my King. Lady Catelyn helped me escape the camp, and I pledged to serve her. I swore to bring you and your sister back to her after I delivered Ser Jaime back to Kings Landing."

Sansa looked her over. Her eyes were still as bitter cold as the north winds were becoming. She did not seem moved by the story or inclined to speak to her at all. She had not done more than glance once at Lady Stoneheart. Her eyes had betrayed her shock and disgust at what was left of her mother. She had only spoken to Clegane, and it was only her commands.

Sandor grunted. He looked ready to go on the attack at the first word from the girl, but she did not look eager to try a fight.

More gurgling came from the direction of Lady Stoneheart.

"Sansa, come to me," Harwin said, looking over at her. "Your mother won't harm you, milady."

Sansa slipped behind Clegane again and reached a hand over to touch Gendry as well for a moment.

"My Lady, I must speak with you." Brienne went to her knees in front of the young woman who had moved to the top of the steps.

Sansa responded only with an impassive stare. Her eyes widened as Jaime took a step forward to stand beside Brienne.

"Lady Sansa, please allow me to speak to you." Jaime had taken a knee in the mud in front of her.

Brienne rose and took a step forward as Clegane moved the tip of his sword to point directly in the face of Jaime. She was now blocking Jaime. Clegane would have to skewer her before he harmed Jaime.

Jaime had risked his life to save hers. He was not a bad man. He had been in a very difficult position. He had chosen thousands of lives over one. The vow to protect the innocent over the vow to protect the king. She wondered what she would have done had she been put in the same position. She had heard him tell Lady Catelyn how Brandon Stark and Rickard Stark had died. She had heard him talk of the wildfyre that was meant to burn the city before letting it pass to the hands of the usurper. Every one knew that Aerys Targaryen was mad. No one would deny it. 

Sansa looked around at them all. She looked like she was about to lose it. She reached over and grasped Sandor's arm and pulled him inside the inn, shutting the door quietly. Her eyes had stayed locked on Jaime. 

More gurgling came from Lady Stoneheart.

"Take the Kingslayer captive."

Brienne moved between the men of the brotherhood and Jaime.

"You can see that he honored his word to Lady Catelyn. There is no need to harm him. He is not an oathbreaker. He came to rescue Lady Sansa. He has been honoring his word since he arrived in Kings Landing, doing what he could to help Lady Catelyn's daughters. I swear it."

"That remains to be seen," Harwin said, jerking his head.

Brienne rounded on the lord who had brought them back here. She knew he was leading them into a trap, but Jaime had wanted to trust him. He deserved to be cut down.

"He will stand trial for his crimes against the Starks." Harwin said. "Roose Bolton gave his greetings to His Grace, King Robb, the King in the North and the Riverlands, directly before he ran him through with his sword."

Two children crawled from under the porch, holding bows aimed at Jaime.

 _Let him Yield. Let him Yield._ Brienne prayed to all the gods she had ever heard of to make Jaime do the smart thing and yield.

Jaime reached for his sword belt and removed it. He tossed it in the mud.

Gendry walked forward calmly and collected it. He unsheathed the sword and pointed it at Jaime where he knelt on the ground.

The proud Lion of Lannister looked over at Brienne with such a broken look that she felt her heart wrench. She had betrayed him. He knew she had betrayed him. She swore to help him for his honor, and she had betrayed him.

"Lady Brienne, take the prisoner and see that he is secured and guarded."

"Pod?" Brienne called. Tears moistened her bandages as she looked down at the handsome man on his knees who had put his faith in her. She would not fail him. She would not fail Lady Catelyn. She would find Arya.

Podrick Payne walked forward from the crowd of men on the side of Lady Stoneheart. He went and took the arms of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He bound them with a length of rope he had.

Brienne followed them as they walked him toward a large tree that grew on the right side of the yard. She stared at Jaime as he was tied to the tree. She would fight for him if he would ask for trial by combat. She would not let him die alone. She would save him. He was not a bad man.

The other men who had ridden with them began backing away. They slowly turned.

A soft gurgling noise emanated from Lady Stoneheart.

"You are invited to stay. Witnesses will be required for the trial of the Kingslayer."

Brienne felt a coldness as she saw the looks that passed between Lady Stoneheart and Lord Stokeworth.

"I have to decline. I have a castle and wife to get home to."

"Take him prisoner. His sword has served the Lannisters."

Lord Stokeworth whipped out his sword.

"He will hang. Don't shoot him."

Arrows pierced the throats of the men of his guard, felling them with ease. A few crashed away into the forest.

"Get the horses." The men of the brotherhood raced after the horses.

"Brienne, take the traitor captive."


	28. Sandor X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe he should give her the kiss she remembered.

The little bird tugged him into a large room. He saw a steaming tub of water waiting and rumpled sheets on the bed. It was the same room they had been in last time. 

She shut the door and locked it, sinking down. She leaned her back against the door, taking the place he had had the last time.

“Are you alright, Little Bird?”

Sansa shook her head and hugged her knees. She looked scared and repulsed. She had often looked away from him with a similar fear in her eyes on their way down the Kingsroad what felt like years ago now. She shuddered. 

He reached back and removed his cloak. He went to her and draped it around her shoulders. He slid his fingers under her hair and lifted it to rest on top of the cloak. It was hard to release the soft tresses from his hands. He let his fingers comb through it once. In the Red Keep, she had often run her fingers through her hair to calm herself when she thought no one was watching.

“Come, Little Bird.”

He gathered her into his arms and took her to the rickety chair before the dying fire. She felt so small and fragile. He wished he could just hold her close and run his fingers through her hair and over her face, comforting her. She had often placed his hand on her face since they met back up. She seemed to find his large hands caressing her cheeks comforting on some level. She had also seemed to seek out his arms.

He withdrew so he was not within touching distance. He glanced over at the tub, feeling a shot of arousal pound through him. Last time, she was naked with water pouring over her body. She had turned and looked into his eyes. She had not tried to hide her beauty. 

_'Will you be up shortly?'_

She had looked so softly at him when she asked the question. He had been hard from having her huddle close to him all day, with her arms tight around his chest. 

_'I want you with me.'_

He bit back the urge to growl at himself. He was a dumb dog. She had not been inviting him to join her. She was making sure he did not walk in on her again. No dog and no captain of guards was welcome to gaze upon his lady's body. Only a husband was entitled to the privilege he had unwittingly taken. A husband would have been entitled to all he wanted that she had and would have claimed his rights to her often. Any man would be pleased to claim rights to such a perfect creature.

He added a log to the fire and blew the flames to help the flames grow. She had a little bit of a chill. He could think of other ways to warm her that he found far superior to fire. But it did no good to dwell on that. Only the Imp was entitled to warm her that way, but he never took his right. Why? Who would have such a perfect creature and not make her his wife in every way?

“What was that—that thing?”

“Lady Stark, mayhaps,” he said, gently.

Sansa drew her knees up. She wrapped herself more tightly in his cloak. She had told Elder Brother of wrapping herself tightly in his cloak when she wanted comfort. There she was with his cloak again. She liked the cloaks he gave her. He needed to get away from her before he did something stupid.

“Are you hungry, Little Bird?”

Sansa shook her head. She slipped down to the thin deerskin rug that sat before the fire. She lifted the edge of his cloak to her nose and sniffed. She tucked it in closer around her shoulders and under her chin.

“Just stay with me, Sandor.”

Sandor did not respond. He stepped to the side to be out of the direct line of heat and light from the fire. She looked so small, huddled there in his cloak. He felt reminded of the last time he had seen her looking so small.

It had been after Joffrey, the King of Lies and Cruelty, ordered Ser Ilyn Payne to behead her father. She had been so small and fragile. She had not been eating. She was finally getting the dose of reality that he had wanted her to get, but seeing it made him regret ever wanting it for her. How had she managed to be so beautiful—even while she was suffering? 

He had ached, desperate to drink—especially when he might have to see her tortured. She had a grace and strength he had never seen in another person when they were being tortured. It made her more beautiful than he had ever thought anyone could be. 

He had only once seen a hint of rage in her. Rage would not have helped her there, he knew. It would likely have gotten her killed. He had not been able to allow that. He remembered his advice to her to give the boy what he wanted, and she had done her best. He remembered his fear when he saw that crossbow pointed at her in the throne room. He had never wanted to kill to protect something weak before. He killed because his masters had commanded it of him.

“Please sit. Your leg is bothering you.” Sansa looked up at him and motioned to the only chair.

Sandor looked down at her. She was his lady, and she would sit at his feet meekly the way a wife might sit with her husband in private. 

His eyes glazed for a moment as he imagined her huddling between his legs, her cheek on his thigh while he petted her hair. She would welcome his touch and touch him in return.

He bit back a snarl at himself. She would not want his touch that way. She was his mistress. She should be in the chair while he sat the floor. All the same, he sat in the chair. 

Sansa moved over beside him. She curled an arm around his leg for a moment.

“How did you find Arya?”

She tucked her legs under her skirts, spreading them around her in a fanned way. She looked him over, reaching for him before withdrawing and blushing. She looked away.

“I took her with the intention of ransoming her to your brother to recover some of the funds I lost when the outlaws took the last of my tourney winnings.”

Sansa's hands moved to his leg softly. He forced himself to calm as his blood raised. He could see down her dress. The tops of her breasts and the valley between them called him as she had when she felt she was in danger. She always looked so grateful when he saved her, looked pleased to see his face. He wondered how soft the skin would be under her clothes. What would it feel like on his cheek, under his tongue? Would she enjoy such touches? 

He tipped his head back so he was staring at the ceiling and not at her body. She was just petting her dog, tending to him as a lady did with any prized hound. 

“I thought I would give her back, pledge myself to your brother, and serve him. The shewolf declared he would never have me. I laughed and told her that he was an idiot if he did not want my sword serving him.”

Sansa slid her fingers over his tense leg muscles softly teasing the muscles into relaxation.

“Why would you want to serve my brother?” Sansa asked, shifting so she was more in front of him and able to look more easily at his face.

Her soft touches gliding and rubbing were banishing the tension in his leg while increasing it between them. What would her sweet hands feel like if them slid inside his thigh and up to his cock? If she unlaced his breeches and took him out—he barely contained the thrust of his hips at the thought. He reached down to remove her hand. He should not let this continue. He would already need a release. He need not prolong his difficulties or strain his self control. 

“Why would you want to serve my brother?” Sansa asked, twisting her small hand as his trapped it.

He could not tell her everything. He could not tell her that he had seen the anger her sister had for her at times. He could not tell her how he had seen in Arya a desire to kill her older sister. He was certain that the conviction was inconstant, but it was there at times. She would ache to know how her sister seemed to hate her.

“I wanted the chance to kill my brother,” he said, telling her an answer similar to things he had told the younger Stark girl, the girl who was so like him.

“I understand,” Sansa said, curving her hands around his. She drew it close.

“Do you?” he asked, wondering if she would 'understand' his other reason for wanting to serve the Wolf King being that he hoped to earn a place at her side, whether she wanted him or not. He knew the Wolf would never give Sansa to be his woman, but he could be her permanent guard and keep her safe always. If any lord husband of hers tried to harm her, he would keep her safe. He would have been able to look upon her as often as he pleased and protect her as he had offered. 

Sandor growled and curved his fingers around hers. He drew her close. He did not want her to marry any pompous lord who cared for nothing for her or the whelps she would pop out for him. Sandor would worship her if she was his wife. She would be his greatest treasure.

“I know what he did to you,” Sansa said, drawing his hand so his knuckles brushed her throat.

The skin was soft and pale and yielding. She had shifted so she was sitting on her knees next to him. She was on her knees at his feet, submissive. He could have her pleasure him easily. 

It would have been just as easy back in her room at the Red Keep, and he had been so close once to having her whimper beneath him. He wanted to punish her for not playing her part. But he had been unable to hurt her. It wasn't what he wanted.

He opened his fingers to cup the side of her neck. Gods help him. She leaned into his hand. He moved his other hand to grip her arm, drawing her between his thighs. If he was a religious man, he would have prayed that she did not notice his desire. It wasn't what she wanted.

She moved closer without a fuss. Her hands slid to cradle the wrist of the hand cupping her neck. She was leaning into his hand.

“Little Bird, we have to decide what to do. We can't hide here long.”

“I know. I just don't know what to do,” she said, leaning closer. She rested a hand on each thigh.

He trailed his hands over her face, tracing her chin and cheeks. She was his goddess, he knew—the only person he wanted to obey and be near always. He would take both knees before her. He stared at her perfect lips. She remembered kissing him, but he remembered no kiss. If he had kissed her, he did not know if he would have been able to stop himself. 

Sansa's breathing had become heavier, and her eyes were locked on his face. She moved a hand to touch the side of his face akin to how he was cradling hers. She leaned in closer to him.

Sandor shifted as she pressed against him. He could feel her breasts on either side of his cock. He pulled her closer. She was soft and petite. It felt so nice to have her huddled in his arms. He leaned toward her, lifting her up more so she was draped against his chest. Even with the whores, he had never held them this way. He just pushed them to their hands and knees and had them.

Her eyes lowered from his face. She was staring at his chest as her hands rested on his shoulders. She wiggled a little, putting her cheek over his heart and looking up at him.

“Sandor,” her voice was soft as the coo of a dove. She was staring at the ruin the fire had made of his mouth. Her stomach muscles were contracting and relaxing with the state of her nerves. Her hand teased along the edge of the good side of his chin.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He lifted her up more on his chest. He should set her away from himself and go get her mother. It was what a Captain of a Guard would do. He moved to stand, keeping his arms around her to prevent her from falling and hurting herself. She dug her fingers more tightly into his shirt. Maybe he should give her the kiss she remembered.

BANG.

Sandor moved her far away enough that she could not grasp him. He felt a moment of relief mingle with his irritation. He had done so much he wished he hadn't. He would not hurt her.

“Sand—” 

He dropped his hands. He would never hurt her again. He had to live with all the times he knew he frightened her already. He never wanted to scare her.

The door opened.

“I—” 

“Lady Sansa,” Gendry walked in, taking a knee.

Sansa put on her mask and turned from him.

He slid back from her, to be her silent guardian. He knew that job better than any other.

“Lady Stoneheart, Lady Catelyn Stark as was.” Gendry turned and looked at the woman who glided on eerily silent feet into the room.


	29. Sansa XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Father killed lady. The fat king said to get her a dog. He said I would be happier with a dog. Then Father killed Lady.”

Sansa felt his presence behind her. It was comforting. She wished she could melt back against him, into him and not have to deal with this nonsense. She had been about to—she shivered at the thought. He looked as if he would kiss her. 

She had wanted to kiss him. She had never considered giving a man she was not wed to more than a chaste kiss on the cheek, and only then after he named her Queen of Love and Beauty at a Tournament. And after her marriage farce with the Imp, she had thought she would never have a kiss or give one. She had not liked her husband, let alone loved him.

But Sandor wanted her. Sandor protected her. Sandor was good to her. Sandor helped her. She had felt him. 

Randa Royce had made it very clear what it felt like when a man wanted a woman. She had confirmed what Sansa had seen when she was nearly bedded by Tyrion. She remembered how disgusted she had been by the sight of his manhood. She wondered if she would feel any different about Sandor if she would see him. She felt her body heat at the thought.

Sandor did want her. His gray eyes called to her as the snow had when she finally saw it again in the Eyrie. He had come to her in the snow on the Quiet Isle, the way Petyr had in the Eyrie. The difference was that she wanted Sandor, and Petyr had been alone in his desire for her. There were still too many Lysas trying to shove between them. She wondered if maybe Petyr had been wise in how he had chosen to deal with Lysa. 

“Thank you, Ser.” 

She stared at the very bundled up woman. A foul odor assaulted her nose—the smell of death and rot. It almost made her ill. She fought her instinct to step away at the very least and hide behind Sandor again at the most extreme. Courtesy is a woman's armor, and Sansa had always worn her armor well. She knew that she had been a liar, but Joffrey had only wanted the lies.

“How do I know this—woman—is my mother?”

Sansa winced slightly at the gurgling, rattling sound of the creature's throat. She could not imagine that her mother could be anywhere in such a frightening monster. Her mother, who had been sweet and generous and kind. Her mother who had loved her children more than anything.

She looked at the other people who had come into the room. Harwin who had always said he was her father's man, Lady Brienne whose face was covered with a bandage, Gendry who had sworn himself to her, and Lady Stoneheart who was supposedly her mother. Sandor was standing behind her. She could hear him breathing.

“Sansa, the night that King Robert arrived at Winterfell, I was helping you fix your hair for the feast and mentioned to you that the king had made an offer of marriage to you with his son. You said that it was the only thing you ever wanted. You begged me to make your father accept the king's offer.”

Sansa stared at the woman. Anyone might have guessed at the beginning that she wanted to marry Joffrey. But this woman had stated almost word for word what she had said to her mother. Sandor said that it was possible, and Sandor was the only person that she felt confident had never lied to her. 

She only remembered him lying once, and that had been for her. It had been Joffrey's nameday, when he helped her save Ser Dontos. Ser Dontos was dead now, dead after he sold her out to Petyr. Petyr was right thought. If he sold her once, he would have no issue to doing it again. Though Petyr had probably been more concerned about himself than her.

The woman gurgled more.

“Your father found the wolves that you children took to raise the day he beheaded a deserter from the Nightswatch. Your brothers, Robb and Bran, brought them back along with Jon Snow and Theon Turncloak.”

“You know this as well, Harwin.” Sansa almost winced as she interrupted. It was not proper or ladylike to interrupt. “How do I know that this woman is not speaking through your knowledge?”

Harwin turned to Lady Stoneheart. She motioned to Gendry.

“Gendry, you also can understand her Ladyship?” Harwin asked.

He nodded, casting his eyes to Sansa.

Sansa looked him over. He was sworn to her. He had known her sister. Would Arya have spoken of the wolves to this boy? She had been as angry and bitter as she had by the loss of her wolf, maybe angrier. She had rarely heard her sister talk of Nymeria after that day.

“Tell me true,” she said, looking into the bright blue eyes. “Did my sister ever mention pet wolves to you?”

“She mentioned wolves often, and it was well known that King Robb Stark of Winterfell and the North had an enormous direwolf. But she never said more than that about the wolves. She seemed to understand them in a way that baffled me.” 

Satisfied with the answer in terms of honesty and completeness, she looked at Sandor to see if he agreed. He said a dog could sniff out a lie. 

He nodded, and his hand was resting on the hilt of the sword. 

She gazed at his mouth, remembering the rough, searing kiss from the night of Blackwater. The light had glowed an unnatural green and stank of blood and smoke. He had smelled of blood, smoke, wine, and sweat. His kiss had stayed with her, in her memory every day. She turned back to Gendry.

“What does Lady Stoneheart say their names were?”

Gendry listened very closely.

“His Grace, King Robb named his wolf Grey Wind. You named yours Lady. Arya named her wolf Nymeria. Bran's wolf was unnamed. Rickon called his Shaggydog.”

“Mother?”

Sansa felt her lip tremble as she fought the urge to run to her mother. She did not know what to say. She had wanted her mother for so long. She had stupidly treated the queen as a mother, confiding in her, once her own was left behind at Winterfell. Her mother was truly sweet and kind and loved her. 

She stepped toward the woman. The tall woman, Lady Brienne, stepped toward her. The light in the fireplace glinted off the lion head pommel of the sword hanging from her belt.

“Brienne, take the dog and chain him.”

Sansa whipped back from the others and moved between Brienne and Sandor.

“No.” She felt the stiffness in her body as she remembered watching the change between Petyr and Littlefinger. She wondered briefly if the others could detect the change in her. She felt Alayne. Alayne was bold and clever. Alayne knew how Lysa Arryn really died and lied to the great lords of the Vale.

She looked over at Gendry. She could not possibly count on him. He might have told them that Sandor was dangerous. He was so bitter about her sis—suddenly it clicked in her mind. She glanced over at Sandor. She did not know what the fight had really been about, and they might not ever tell her the words that had passed. But Gendry clearly blamed Sandor for Arya being missing. He might be in love with her sister. 

She backed toward Sandor, keeping herself between them. Sandor was hers, and these people who claimed they were her friends were not going to hurt him. Her mother would surely never harm someone who had saved her as often as Sandor had. Sandor had thought of her first the day of the Bread Riot. She had wondered why he went to such lengths to save her then. He was not even a knight, but he had viciously defended her. 

“Sansa, he is a Lannister pet. He was the sworn shield of Joffrey.”

“He is my guard, my shield.” Sansa stopped at her next thought. It would have been blasphemous to say her real thought. He was her Warrior. She was his Maiden. “He keeps me safe.”

“Then why are you guarding him?”

Sansa glowered at them. Sandor was so quiet. None of these men was a real threat to him, but she was just so tired of death.

“He is mine.”

“He will be questioned about Arya. We know that he had her. Until it is known whether he harmed your sister, he is unsuitable as a bodyguard for you. He might harm you just as easily. Brienne, chain the dog.”

Sansa moved between them. She heard the scrape of steal on leather. A matching ring came from the woman in front of her withdrawing her sword as well. The red ripples of the blade flashed and Sansa noticed the bright gleam of steel that was more than ordinary.

“Stand aside, my Lady.”

“Or what?” Sansa asked, staring up at her. “You'll hit me?”

She could almost feel his tension. Sandor growled menacingly. The woman was almost as tall as Sandor. She had never seen so large a woman. 

Brienne took a step back. 

“Never, my Lady.” Brienne looked down at her. Her eyes were slightly startled, and she looked upset.

Sansa's eyes caught on the Valyrian steel of the blade the other woman was holding. She remembered the replaced blade that she had seen Ser Illyn wielding. It was not Ice. Tyrion had refused to answer when she asked what had happened to her father's sword.

“You wouldn't be the first. It is what people who wear armor do. All the knights of the Kingsguard hit me.” Sansa shifted. Sandor had never taken the vows of knighthood. It was not a lie to say that all the knights hit her. “Only one of them ever objected.”

“Lady Sansa,” Harwin moved toward her to take her arm.

Sansa recoiled from him, and a blade flashed forward, the tip of it kissing Harwin's throat.

“Keep your fucking hands to yourself, and lose your fucking head.”

She backed up to Sandor, and touched his wrist. He held the blade still at Harwin's throat but did not drive it forward. His breathing was heavy, and she could feel his anger. 

She felt his hand gently wrap around her waist protectively. She sagged softly, letting him move her back to a safer place close to him. He always moved her to safe places. She squeezed Sandor's hand. Harwin had made a mistake trying to touch her, but she did not want him to die for it.

“It's alright, Sandor. He won't try to touch me again, will you?”

Lady Stoneheart moved forward menacingly.

“He protects me, Mother. He always protects me,” Sansa said, turning her eyes to her mother. “He saved me from the men who wanted to rape and kill me. He saved me again from men who would have taken me to the queen. He saved me from the cold. He saved me from the Lannisters and from the evil man who helped imprison father. He has always helped me after his own fashion. He did not harm Arya. I am certain of it.”

She turned and wrapped an arm around his waist, resting her other on the arm holding her. She dug her fingers into his shirt. She was the safest woman in the world as far as she was concerned. Sandor would not let anyone even touch her gently. She did not believe Harwin would have harmed her, but she was glad that he had not been allowed.

“It's alright, Li—ady Sansa. I promised to kill any who hurt you.”

“And you always do.” Sansa nodded against his shoulder. The top of her head was right below the top of his shoulder. She gave a shuddering sigh. She wished that they had managed to travel undetected.

“It's alright, my Lady. No one will hurt you,” Brienne said. “I won't let anyone hurt you.”

She held in her sobs and twisted the fabric of his shirt. So many people seemed to be wanting to help her now. It was slightly overwhelming to suddenly have so much support. Petyr had kept her so isolated. She was so used to being alone while surrounded. She had been a prisoner, a prisoner to be beaten and abused. She was not sure that any of these people were trustworthy. 

She wanted to scream, but she held in her words, bottled them up. They would never take her dog. She would not lose him the way she did Lady. She lost her wolf to one parent. Would the other want her dog? Every one else had taken her other treasures or forced her to leave them behind. Everything she cared for had been taken. 

She sighed, feeling the warmth of his hand. She pressed even closer to him, sliding her hand from his waist to his neck.

She heard someone step back. The woman was holding a Lannister blade, like the one Joffrey had been given at his wedding—made of Valyrian steel. Valyrian steel like her father's great sword. It was a rare metal. It had to be her father's old blade. Tywin Lannister may have put an end to Joffrey being able to torture her, but he had destroyed Ice. Lannisters loved to destroy.

She wanted that blade. She took a deep breath. She turned and stared at the gleaming Valyrian steel blade with its red ripples. She would find someone as soon as she could who would be able to remove those stupid red ripples. 

“Lady Brienne, I want that sword.”

Brienne bent one knee and held the blade by its cross-guard, offering the hilt to her.

Sansa snatched it. The blade was curiously light weight and seemed to hum in her hand. She had never found swords particularly beautiful.

She had once tried to heft a simple blunted tourney sword at Robb's incessant teasing. It had been so heavy that she could not lift the tip from the dirt. Robb had laughed, along with Jon Snow, her brothers. Only one brother was still alive of four was still alive, and he had been chased to the Wall. He had also been made Lord Commander. He would have helped her. 

“Where did you get this?” she asked.

“Ser Jaime Lannister gave it to me. He told me that it used to be Ice, your Lord father's greatsword. He said it was only right that it be used in a quest to find you and protect you. He was appalled by his father's act of destroying it.”

“Sandor,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him. “Take the sword.”

He stared at it and then at her and then the blade again. He sheathed the ordinary blade and took the hilt of the blade from her. He twisted and turned the blade.

Sansa stared at it. The beautiful Valyrian steel. It reminded her of her father. She had found him in the godswood one time when he was cleaning it. She had gone and sat with him. She had still been a young girl and had just finished embroidering a cloak for him. It was the first thing she had ever made. He had called her his special girl.

“My father's greatsword. The last time I know that he used it was—was—when he killed Lady.”

She moved away from him. She went and sat on the edge of the bed. She took a pillow and hugged it.

“Father killed lady. The fat king said to get her a dog. He said I would be happier with a dog. Then Father killed Lady.”

Sandor moved and knelt in front of her. He did not touch her, and he leaned slightly on the blade to keep his balance. She closed her eyes to hide her pain. She wished she could just slide into his lap, and everything else would go away. 

She looked around at everyone else. She wished they would all just leave her alone with Sandor.

“We still must speak about Arya. But as long as you are Lady Sansa's dog, and not a Lannister hound, you need fear nothing.” Harwin said, looking over at them.

“When my Lady is ready,” Sandor said. His eyes searched her face tenderly.

“My Lady, please, may I have a quick word?” Brienne asked.

“I want to be alone. I want you all to leave, except Sandor.” Sansa reached for him. 

“Please, my Lady, about Ser Jaime.” Brienne moved closer to Sansa.

Sansa looked up at her. What now? What was so important about the Lannister?

“Please, give him a fair trial. He has done much to help you since he arrived in Kings Landing.”

She looked around the room at them all. Her heart was heavy with everything that had happened. She did not need any more concerns. A lady would not allow an innocent man to die. She was not the queen, and she really knew nothing about Ser Jaime—except that he had been responsible for the deaths of Jory and some other northerners and her father's injury.

“My Lady needs to sleep,” Sandor said. “I will stay and guard her.”

“I do not want the Kingslayer killed, please, Mother, or Ser Bronn. He also protected me. It would not be right to punish him.” She looked toward Lady Stoneheart. “I have some questions that only he may be able to answer.” She put her head in her hands.

She was so tired. All she wanted to do was just sleep, but her mind was buzzing with everything. She did not know what to think about first.

“My Lady is exhausted. She would sleep now,” Sandor said, moving forward.

Everyone slowly filed out the door to leave her in peace.

“Brienne, please guard Ser Jaime and make sure he does not escape. Sandor, give her your old sword.”

Sandor stepped forward and passed the non Valyrian steel blade to the woman. She took the blade and nodded.

“The sword you are holding, Ser, is named Oathkeeper.”

“Not a Ser,” Sandor said, sliding the steel into the sheath on his belt slowly.

The door was gently and quietly shut behind them. Sansa leaned back, tucking the blanket up around herself. She waited till she heard the door click shut behind her.

“Sandor.”

Sandor moved to her side.

“Will you hold me till I fall asleep?”

“I'll hold your hand until you fall asleep,” he said, going and collecting the chair. He sat down and took her hand softly in his.

Sansa closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on thinking of nothing and falling asleep. She knew how difficult it was to sleep with her mind so full. But at least there was no one singing through the whole night. She squeezed Sandor's hand, tucking it close to her.


	30. Sandor XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor almost growled at the girl, telling her opinion of him had as much interest to him as what came from the back end of his war stallion.

Sandor was quiet as she tucked his hand close. If he twisted it ever so slightly, his fingers would be able to splay on her chest and graze her breasts. She would not thank him for that.

"Sandor—"

When had that happened? When had she started calling him Sandor? Why had she? She had never addressed him as Hound or Dog—no matter how he tried to coerce and frighten her into doing so. He had threatened to beat her once, knowing that he could never lift a finger to her.

"What is it, Little Bird?"

"Why do you think Lady Brienne is so vehement in her defense of Ser Jaime? Everyone knows what he did." She snuggled his hand and rested her cheek in it as she opened her eyes. Seeming to realize herself, she released his hand. She sat up in the bed, tucking her knees up to her chest.

He allowed his hand to linger only a moment on her cheek before dropping to his side.

"Might be she thinks he is better than others. Might be she likes his pretty face. A pretty face makes it easier to gain forgiveness for crimes."

He wondered if he should volunteer what little he knew of the Kingslayer. He knew the kingslayer was different from the queen and Joffrey.

"He took twenty men and killed Jory Cassel and other north men, and injured my father." Sansa's voice was quiet as she said this.

"Your Lady mother also took his brother captive."

Cersei had only been angry that the Imp's kidnap had caused Jaime to fly off in a passionate rage. She said Jaime was a fool to run off after the Imp—that her father would not allow Tyrion to be kidnapped without a fight.

She had raged about it for less than a moon's turn—before she took another blond haired, green eyed imbecile Lancel to her bed. Her reason, as he had heard when delivering a message from Joffrey to her, was the Lannister pseudo-motto, 'A Lannister always pays his debts.' She had cast out the boy who barely had peach fuzz on his chin. She had muttered after looking over what the King had sent. He remembered her wondering why Jaime had to be such an idiot about the dwarf.

Sansa shivered a bit. She rubbed her legs and sighed heavily.

"Try to sleep, Little Bird."

Sansa reached for the blankets and pulled them up close. She tucked them around her chin. Her eyes closed as her arm curled under the thin pillow.

He remembered how they had woken in that cave. Somehow in the night, she had become cold and burrowed into his back. Her arm had wrapped around his waist and buried in his shirt. He had to ease away from her. He had woken to the sound of an animal walking outside the cave. He had been able to provide her with fresh venison for breakfast. She had been very happy to have fresh meat. He wished he had been able to give her a full meal to her taste, but they were on the move.

He had said nothing of the raging erection he had after waking to her snuggling form. He wondered if she even knew that she had curled so close to him. It truth, it was no more intimate, in some ways, than when she would ride pillion with his arms around her while she slept, holding his arm the way a little girl would hold a doll.

She did not sleep long. Her eyes opened not an hour later.

"Sandor."

"What?" he asked, looking down at her.

"In the Vale—in the Vale, Lord Petyr was teaching me much. He is a disgusting, loathsome, foul creature. He turns on people as soon as it is in his best interest, even his wife. I am not really sorry my Aunt Lysa is dead. She was trying to shove me out the moon door. I lost my boot. He then shoved her out after I crawled to safety. I have never been so scared. She said that I was trying to seduce him, that I was playing with him the way my mother used to."

Sandor looked down at her, remembering his words when he was drunk and had been following her. He told her that Kings Landing was full of liars, and a dog could sniff out a lie. What had Baelish put her through? He hoped that he would be given the honor of killing that man, for what he did to the little bird.

"I just. I don't know," she trailed off, leaning back on the pillows and headboard. She tucked her knees up and stared at the fire.

"Sleeping will help, Little Bird."

She breathed out a heavy sigh and continued to sit up.

"I wish it was just the two of us—" she said, and her voice choked a little as she pressed her eyes to her knees. "This is too much. I don't know what to do. All I know is that I won't be like the queen."

Sandor raised to his feet from the rickety chair. He moved over to the bed, reaching out to her when he was beside the bed. He placed a hand on her back.

Sansa looked up and scooted closer to him.

"Life is never as simple as two people for long," he rumbled, "Surely, you saw all the twisted workings of how the world works while in Baelish's company."

Sansa nodded. She reached to him, drawing him down to sit on the bed.

"Even though he is an evil man, for what he has done to my family. He made possible my father's death. He manipulated everything so he could marry my aunt."

Sansa shifted a little, leaning her cheek over to rest on his arm.

"He manipulated many of the great lords of the Vale into believing falsehoods, planned the slow death of my cousin, made it possible for me to become Lady of the Eyrie by marrying Harry the Heir. I have to wonder if he was wrong about everything he was teaching me."

Sandor shifted a little, looking down at her. The poor bird was so used to others taking care of everything and being entirely alone.

"You're not alone anymore, Sansa. Sleep will help with the stress."

"I have too much on my mind to sleep."

Sandor understood. He had felt that way often in the Red Keep, especially after he had to endure watching her beaten and tormented. The haunted look she would sometimes have on her face when he would fetch her. The detached look when her courtesies would overtake her because there was nothing more that she could do while the men beat her. He had kept reminding himself that dying was easy, and living was difficult. He had not wanted to leave her all alone.

He wanted to tell her that he should have dragged her from the keep, kicking and screaming if needs be. He should never have left her, but what more could he do after he ran from the flames after he said 'Fuck the King.' He remembered the look on the boy king's face.

Sansa leaned closer and closed her eyes.

"I'm glad you're here, Sandor. I wondered, so often in the Red Keep after you were gone, if I had been an idiot to not go with you. I felt so lost. I wished you were there."

Why was she telling him these things?

He leaned closer to her, resting his cheek on her head. Her hair was soft, and he felt her softly work her feet under his leg. They were chilled. He wondered if he should say anything. He had already told her that he was staying with her. What more could he say? All he could do was make sure that he did not leave her, no matter what happened.

When she found her real prince, he would stay quiet and follow her and be her guard. She deserved a real prince, like Aemon the Dragonknight, if such an good man truly existed. If such a man was real, he was what the little bird should have. She deserved a true knight, like the kind she used to titter about. She had stubbornly clung to her ideal vision about knights, no matter what he told her about them.

Glancing down, he realized she had fallen asleep, leaning against him. He moved to help her lie down and rest in a more comfortable position. She moaned and her eyes fluttered open slightly. He shifted back into place, and she closed her eyes with a sigh. He shifted, moving his legs up on the bed. He would keep alert and awake while she slept.

Sandor leaned back on the headboard as she snuggled closer to him. She curled into his side, under his arm. He rubbed her hip gently with his thumb, wishing he could tuck her between his legs and drape her against him as they had sat earlier. He snarled and bit back the impulse to kiss her head. He did not deserve to kiss her in any way.

He leaned back and closed his eyes to rest a little and try to calm his body's reaction to her being so close. He wondered what she would do, what she meant in wondering if Baelish was all wrong about everything he said and did. What did she mean? What could Baelish have said or taught her that was worth learning?

The sun was just peaking through the window when a loud knocking jarred him. His sword was out so fast it seemed it had almost leaped from its scabbard.

"Who is it?" he growled, glaring at the door as it was an enemy to the precious creature in his arms.

Sansa had been jarred awake by the noise as well, and had only just noticed their arrangement of limbs. She had an arm draped across his stomach and a leg curled around his calf. Her body was flush against his side.

"It's Willow. Breakfast is almost ready. I thought that Lady Sansa might prefer some help to get dressed and then come down. Lady Stoneheart left in the night on one of her wanderings. We understand that the prisoners have been left to Lady Sansa to deal with as she will."

Sandor gently untangled their limbs and rose to his feet. He looked down at Sansa for her answer.

Her eyes were bright and nervous at the prospect of having prisoners in her care no doubt. She mouthed the word 'prisoners.'

"Yes, I would appreciate a bath. If it is not too much trouble, a bath would be nice."

"At once, my Lady."

Sansa stood quietly. She was blushing softly and slightly averting her eyes from his face. She had not done that since the days of the Red Keep. Now her reason was different.

Sandor sheathed the sword slowly.

"Thank you for staying, Sandor."

He shrugged. He crossed his hands in front of his waist, hoping that it would be enough to hide the evidence of his arousal from her.

"Not leaving you again," he grunted eventually.

"I know," her voice was quiet. "I know. I meant just last night for staying in here with me." She walked to him. "You've been so good to me."

Sandor shifted a little as she hugged him. His hands, still blocking his arousal, brushed her stomach. He turned them out to rest against her. He could almost clasp them together around her tiny waist. He wished he could pull her closer, against his body and kiss her softly. He wondered what she remembered kissing him as being like. Had she enjoyed it? He shifted back from her. He had not kissed her, so why did it matter what she remembered it as?

"Is there anything I can do for you, my Lady?"

Her lips were pink and looked as soft as rose petals. She was so lovely. She stepped back so her neck did not crane so much as she looked up at him.

"If you are not too tired, I would like you with me while I speak with the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

Still polite. He could not remember her once referring to the Kingslayer by the nickname his most infamous action had earned him. She was just kind that way. She needed someone to keep her safe, even though he had been pleased to note that the Lion was one paw the fewer as word had indicated. He was not sure what his lady intended to do to the Kingslayer. She was not like anyone else he had ever known.

"I am not tired."

She could have just demanded it. But she troubled herself to be polite. She had always tried to be courteous to him. He remembered the first time he spoke to her and how she slid to the ground in fear. He had done nothing to her, and she was terrified. Now, she was concerned to be away from him. He never thought she would see him as anything less than the monster that he seemed, but she had come to see past it. But she had tried, and he scared her for her efforts which only seemed to encourage her to try harder.

"Thank you." He would not mind kneeling in front of her and putting his head in her lap like a proper dog and eating from her hand.

He wanted to tell her that he belonged to her, that she held his leash with her soft hands and led him about as gently as if he were that wolf she had loved so well. She did not need to thank him for obeying her. What dog would slip his lead with a mistress as sweet and delicate as her to follow about? He had learned in his stay on the Quiet Isle that it would be better to keep some things to himself. He did not want to upset her or cause her any more anxiety than what she already had.

A moment later a few young girls carried in several large pots of hot water to refill her tub.

Jeyne gave him a glare.

"You don't need to be in here," she informed him bossily as she set her bucket down.

"Jeyne—"

"Willow, he is not her husband. Lady Stoneheart would not approve of her daughter being stared at like a brothel worker."

Sandor almost growled at the girl, telling her opinion of him had as much interest to him as what came from the back end of his war stallion. She was correct, of course, that he was not his lady's husband but he did not bend to the will of the snotty little wench.

"Jeyne."

"He stared at her last time. She is a lady, Ser Nasty."

"I apologize for my sister, Ser."

Sandor was just about to lose his temper. He started toward the littler one to remove her from the room when a soft voice called him.

"Sandor, why don't you get a little rest while I bathe?"

He gave the small one half a snarl which she boldly returned. He could not decide whether to be more impressed or more annoyed. He turned to her.

She rested a hand on the side of the changing screen that blocked the bathtub. She rested her temple against it for a moment, watching him recline on the bed.

After he closed his eyes, he could hear her move behind the screen. He opened his eyes to watch her silhouette undress. The soft rustling of fabric and the sound of water being poured into the tub, then the slosh of her stepping into the tub. He bit the tip of his tongue for a moment to try to hold in the groan as the laces of his trousers stretched more tightly over his groin.

She was naked behind that screen. Her pretty breasts and lovely round bottom were doubtlessly being soaped gently. He would not mind seeing to such a duty as helping his lady bathe, but it would never be allowed. He had only been allowed to see her because of a series accidents.

First seeing her breasts when she was stripped before the court. She would have died from the cold had he not stripped her himself the second time. The most recent was when he barged in on her in the bath. He wondered if he would have had the strength to do differently, had he known she would be bathing. Her naked image haunted him. He was just a dog.

He would never last this way. He needed to go out to the privy and see to his needs. He would not want her to know his lust, though she surely already did. She had to know.

"My Lady, are you well?" he shifted as he said 'my lady.' She was his lady, his queen, his mistress, his Maiden. It felt right to call her so.

"Yes."

"I have need to go outside for a time. Will you be fine?"

There was a long pause.

"Yes." the chirp was softer than her usual ones.

"I will be back soon, Lady Sansa."

"Yes," she chirped.

Sandor went to the door and pulled it open. He glowered as he saw the great ugly woman in armor outside the door with her hand raised to knock.

"Lady Brienne is here," he announced. "Would you wish her to guard you while I am outside?"

She was an ugly wench. He had thought her a man when he first saw her. It was only after a few moments looking at her that he realized she was woman. He could tell that even before she had taken her injury that she had not been a great beauty. Her scars, much like his own, had done nothing to help her appearance, but at the very least, they had not ruined something lovely.

"That would be—agreeable. I have need to speak with her, and intended to do so before I break my fast."

Brienne started into the room. He reached out and grasped her. He leaned into her face. He could feel the twitch of his mouth.

"If anything happens to her, worse will happen to you."

Brienne met his gaze with no defiance or anger.

"I will let no harm come to her."

"See that you don't."


	31. Jaime I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My sister would kill you."

He had been awake all night. He had thought that Lady Brienne was different. He was such an idiot. He had defended her, come to care for her as a person. He clunked his head against the pole, closing his eyes. He should know better than to care for anyone by now.

She had come and tried to speak with him several times while she was guarding him and the Lord of Stokeworth. Lady Brienne had been consorting for information with Lord Tarly, Hyle Hunt, and gods knew what else? Her facial injury alone was evidence of a brutal encounter with some vile monster.

He was not afraid of death, but he had not wanted it to happen like this. He had not wanted it to happen defending Cersei from the all too true accusations of the new High Septon either. She had written to him, knowing that he was not able to save her, asking him to come die for her. He wondered if he was better for having burned the correspondence or worse.

He loved them, and they all let him down; they all betrayed him. He had nothing left. Nothing that had made him who he was. He would die alone—for all the crimes of which the world perceived him to be guilty.

"Kingslayer."

It was the gruff voice of the Hound. Last time all three dogs were killed by the lioness before she went down, but that had been his grandfather. This time, it would only take one dog to kill a lion. The Hound would have no trouble taking his head. He had no way to defend himself. He would not stoop to asking Lady Brienne, even though she had repeatedly told him that night that she would defend him with her sword should he chose trial by combat.

"Lady Brienne, do as your lady has commanded."

He looked up as his ties were loosened. Hopefully, Lord Stark's daughter, the young lady so perfect that he remembered, would not want to draw out his suffering or keep him her captive. He allowed himself to be jerked up the steps, out of the snow and into the inn without a fight. The warm air that whooshed out into his face was wonderful. He did not bother to struggle.

He was shoved inside and over to the warmth of the fire. Two gentle hands pressed on his shoulders, indicating that he should take a knee. He moved down to his right knee.

"That is hardly necessary." Her voice was soft, and he could hear footsteps echoing around him and the heavy breathing of Lady Sansa's new dog. He wondered how she managed to take Joffrey's favorite dog. When he lifted his head, he stopped wondering why the dog went sniffing after her skirts.

A young woman he vaguely recognized as being Sansa Stark sat observing him from her perch on the end of a chair. Her hair was slightly darker at the tips and auburn everywhere else. Her eyes were clear and blue. She had a long white furred cloak draping her shoulders and a pale gray woolen dress. She looked every inch a Stark of Winterfell. Her back was stiff, and her hands rested in her lap.

At a table behind her, he saw Lord Stokeworth sitting by another fire. He was already tearing into some bread. Jaime could smell the heady aroma of it.

She rose from her seat and moved around the table, gently cupping both of his hands, indicating that he should rise. She held even his gold hand without flinching. Cersei had been disgusted by the stump. Whatever this lady's opinion, she did not show it.

"Lord Commander," Sansa said, leading him to the table where she had been seated. "Please be seated, Ser. I apologize for the conditions in which you were kept. You would have been in a room with a fire had I known."

Why would she want to show him any kindness after the way she was treated? Why didn't she just ask for his head and send it to his sister? His sister would not hesitate to kill any Stark just to get even with her, granted, that there were precious few Starks left to kill. Theon Greyjoy, his firstborn, and Lord Frey had seen to the executions of them.

"Why would you want to give me a room?"

"I would not wish _any_ person to have been kept outside in winter. This may be only a shadow of the winter that my house has seen, but it is cold enough."

Jaime sank into the other chair by the fire. The warmth penetrated to his bones. He stared at the fire. His whole body raged. He wanted to end it, attack her, make Clegane hack him down. He could not bear to be a captive again. He could not live that way. He was not a man built for being caged. He was not suited to it.

"Sandor, your dagger, please."

Jaime shifted, remembering Dead Ned's words about the old way—something about how the man who passes the sentence ought to be the one to swing the sword when he had seen Ser Ilyn. Would the she-wolf ascribe to that belief? The Valyrian steel sword would make short work of any man's neck, regardless of the strength of the wielder, but she asked for dagger, not the sword.

She continued cradling his hands with one of hers as she took the dagger and cut him free. She angled the blade toward his gold hand. Slitting his wrists would have been simple.

He looked up at Clegane who was standing close beside her with one hand on the hilt of Oathkeeper and an ugly scowl on his face. He could not help remembering the last time he faced the Hound and ended up gazing up at him from the flat of his back while his horse cantered away.

"What is your purpose with me, Lady Stark?" he asked, rubbing his wrists where the rope had been starting to chafe them in the night.

"You must be hungry, my Lord." She nodded to another person who was standing somewhere behind him.

What was she playing at? What was her game? That was all women were, a cruel bunch of games and guile. He was so tired of games. Catelyn Stark and her wine. Cersei and all the other men she was willingly with. Brienne and her betrayal when she knew he wished to honor his word to the Stark woman.

"Why feed a man and kill him?" Jaime asked, glancing up at her before returning his attention to the fire and how it was warming his hands. His left hand ached from the cold of being held all night against his golden hand.

"Who said I was going to kill you?" Sansa asked, meeting his green eyes with a slightly shuddered breath.

She was a little afraid of him, but she hid it well. He could not blame her. He knew the horrible deeds his father and his sister were capable of perpetrating. He knew what he was capable of when it came to someone that he loved. He had killed for Cersei. He had attacked the Stark men when Lady Catelyn took Tyrion captive and set him free when he was accused of kingslaying and became a kinslayer.

"I took an oath and broke it. I'm the Kingslayer. Isn't that cause enough to kill me? Lord Eddard certainly considered it so."

From the corner of his eye, he could see her take the flagon and pour wine into two glasses. Clegane stood silently behind her. His gray eyes were locked on him, watching his every move for any sign of threat to the girl.

"I fear that hunger and cold have addled your brain, Ser." She reached over and set a horn cup in front of him. "The wine will help warm you."

Jaime looked up at her. She smiled at him, but the smile did not reach her eyes. It was a false smile. A smile to be courteous. He remembered the saying about a woman's weapon being poison.

Sansa lifted the glass she had filled from the same flagon in front of her. She took a sip.

A girl came in carrying two bowls of porridge and a loaf of hard bread. She was still trying to get him to eat. She was going to keep him her prisoner.

"I would rather die than be a prisoner again," Jaime said, reaching for the horn cup and down a large gulp of wine. If he was going to his death, he might as well go drunk as sober. Hopefully, if it was posion, he would go fast and painless.

"I prefer to think of you as my special guest, Lord Commander." Sansa said, taking a sip from her own horn cup before giving him half a cup more wine.

Jaime looked over at her. She was a twisted little piece of work. But he could not imagine what it must have been like for her in the Red Keep. She had been a sweet girl, sweet and gentle, and far too trusting.

"Just as I was King Joffrey's guest in the Red Keep. Thank you." She smiled at the young girl who placed the porridge bowls and bread on the table.

"I know it can not count for much, my Lady, but I am sorry for what you experienced at the hands of King Joffrey and the Kingsguard. It is inexcusable and should never have been allowed to happen."

Jaime looked her over, remembering when he saw the first Queen he had known leave King's Landing all those years ago. He could not imagine how Sansa must have been looking during her stay after Lord Eddard's death. He would never have allowed her to be beaten. He was full up of mad, power-crazed kings. He wondered if she would believe him if he told her that he would have prevented it. Probably not, after everything that his family had done.

"I thought we might break our fast and share a conversation."

What had happened to her? More than his sister and Joffrey had worked this girl to make the creature now seated before him. She was perfectly courteous.

"Your mother came to me for conversations as well. The only one she enjoyed was the one where she held a blade to my throat."

"Please, eat," Lady Sansa said, motioning to the bowl of porridge. "It is meager fare, but it is all there is to be had in general considering how the war has devastated this part of Westeros."

Jaime shifted in his hard wood chair. Was that some subtle criticism or a statement of fact? It could almost be either. It took two families to start a war. If she thought her family was blameless, he would be happy to remind her how the war started.

"It takes two families to go to war."

"And one decapitating the lord of another and calling it merciful."

What did she want? He would not have allowed Joffrey to do so, but he had not been in the city to prevent it. He could not change what had happened. He had attacked Ned Stark. Did she know that it was him? Did she blame him for her father in any way?

"Ser, Lady Brienne, who stands just there, has eloquently defended you to me this morning. She says you are a man of honor and intended to see me returned to my mother in return for her freeing you. She said that you named the sword, fashioned from my father's greatsword, Oathkeeper."

Jaime looked over at her. She was blowing on a spoonful of porridge and taking a bite. He felt almost like he was having a conversation with one of the prevaricating sycophants in King's Landing, or just someone who was trying to be one of those people.

"And what credence do you give Lady Brienne?" Jaime asked, staring at the bland looking porridge.

"I don't know Lady Brienne really," Sansa said, after swallowing another bite of porridge.

"What would you have of me?" Jaime asked, looking her over. He was so tired of all the games.

"Truth." She stared directly into his eyes with a coolness he could not remember seeing in any woman.

"Fruit from that vine looks sweeter than it often is," Jaime said, putting a spoon in his own bowl and trying to ignore the way Sandor Clegane was snarling at him. He downed the half cup of wine.

Jaime looked her over as he took several large bites of porridge. He did not particularly care for porridge if it did not have butter and honey in it to give it flavor. But he was cold and the porridge was helping to warm him despite its blandness.

"A lemon is not a sweet fruit. However, I was taught by Maester Luwin that when one travels at sea one eats one per day to prevent illnesses." Her voice was calm as she refilled his cup.

She could turn a pretty phrase. She was always clever with her courtesies though. He had heard much about her gentle, ladylike nature from Ser Barristan. He had heard much about her stupidity from Cersei. She seemed anything but stupid to him.

"There are several questions that I asked of my father, my mother, and my septa as I was growing up in and before the Red Keep. They never answered me."

Jaime took a few more quick bites. What would this young woman want to know?

"I believe that you may know the answers, Ser."

Sansa had finished her bowl of porridge and was nibbling a bite of the dark bread.

"I will offer what knowledge I have, my Lady, if you will answer some of my questions as well."

Her eyes looked him over softly. She was too young to have to be such a lady.

He remembered Cersei the morning after her wedding night. She had been disgusted and angry and hurt. She had stayed glued to his side after he came to escort her to breakfast. She had asked him to make her forget the encounter with Robert. Cersei had wanted to fight back, and he had helped her as he did when she asked him to kill that girl. He had shoved her down the well.

Sansa had always acted a lady, more than any of the other women he well remembered. He wondered how she responded to her constant beatings at the hands of his son.

He looked between Clegane and the girl. The burned side of the Hound's face twitched furiously, and he stood with his hand on the hilt of Oathkeeper. Every few minutes, he would gaze at her. He looked annoyed—about something. Of course, Clegane had generally looked irritable.

"I need truths. I have heard many things. Your knowledge may help me be better able to help you, if you will allow me. I have no wish to harm you or see another harm you, my Lady."

"All Lannisters have ever done is hurt me and lie to me, excluding Tommen and Myrcella. And they are all Lannister, aren't they? Why should I trust you?"

"Have I ever harmed you?" Jaime asked, meeting her eyes defiantly. He longed to tell Tommen and Myrcella that they were his children. He longed to take Cersei and the children back to Casterly Rock and be done with the Iron Throne. He did not need reminding of his sins by another Stark. It was the one activity at which all Starks excelled. She had never done so before.

"I hope I did not cause offense, Ser. Being a prisoner of so many different people in so short a time has caused strain. You led a group of men that attacked and killed some of his men and injured him, didn't you?"

"Did your mother kidnap my brother? Should I love my brother any less than you loved your father? Your father told me he was responsible for Tyrion's kidnap."

"The queen said something interesting to me once. It was on the day that I became a woman. She said, love no one but your children, for a woman can not help loving her children."

Jaime averted his eyes. He wondered if Cersei meant that. Did she ever love him? She had slept with half the seven kingdoms in all likelihood. Did he mean nothing to her? Did she never really love him?

Sansa placed her hands on the table in front of her, casting a quick glance at Clegane. Her eyes were bright and suspicious, and she shifted some on her seat so she was slightly closer to Clegane.

Cersei had done the same with him when that Baratheon bastard had entered the great hall that first day. He wished he could have taken her away from him, but she had said she would stay. She wanted Robert to pay his debt to her. She had been using him.

Winter made strange friends and stranger enemies, it seemed. He remembered hearing something like that that some Stark had said.

She took a deep breath, turning away from Clegane. She looked into his eyes.

"These is not really the matter that I wished to discuss with you."

Jaime felt a modicum of relief, and leaned back in his chair, looking into his wine cup for a moment.

"How did my uncle and my grandfather die?"

Jaime almost choked on his wine. He managed to swallow it down. He hated remembering that. The smell of roasting flesh, the sight of Brandon Stark being choked while Rickard Stark was rotated on a spit in his cherry red armor, the sound of his screams as he was roasted alive.

"Why would you hear that story?"

She did not answer for a moment, opting instead to swirl the wine around in her own cup.

"I never heard anyone say. They knew but they would not tell me. Maybe if I knew. Maybe things would have been different. I might have been more cautious." She looked down as she slid a finger along the handle of the cup.

She wasn't being entirely honest. Jaime took a deep breath. His hunger and thirst had fled him, and he placed his cup on the table.

"I am sure you know that Aerys II Targaryen was King of the Realm when your Aunt Lyanna was—kidnapped by Prince Rhaegar. Your uncle Brandon rode in boldly, demanding Rhaegar come out and die for his crimes. The mad king called for his arrest along with the rest of his little group of friends, a Glover and some others I don't remember them all."

Jaime leaned back in his chair, feeling relieved that he had eaten something. If he had just had the wine, he might be sick. He had been a different man those short months ago when Catelyn Stark approached him in Riverrun's dungeons.

"Your grandfather came quickly enough to help his son." He took a large gulp of wine. "He asked for trial by combat. The king declared that fire would be the champion of House Targaryen. Your grandfather was roasted alive, and your uncle was offered the chance to save him. He was chained and collared. He choked to death, trying to get his sword and save his father while he roasted alive."

He looked at her. She was the model of perfect countenance. Only her eyes and the slight shaking of her chest gave away her horror.

"Five hundred men stood there and watched, my Lady. Not one of them said a word. No one wanted to chance being the next target." He could not continue and say the last of it.

He did not tell her what Ser Gerold Hightower had said to him afterwards—about his job being to protect the king and not to judge him. Ser Gerold was agreed by popular consensus to be the better man. He was sure knights were already as ruined for her as they had been for him. He knew the men he had first served with as a member of the Kingsguard were great men. Great men who had stood by and allowed the queen to be tortured and bloodied and maimed by a madman. He remembered when they told him that he was not supposed to protect the queen from the king. He would never forget her screams.

"My Lady," Clegane spoke and knelt at her side.

"It's alright, Sandor." Sansa looked over at him and touched his shoulder gently. "It's not. Not really, but no one could imagine something so horrible that was not as mad as the mad king."

She sat in silence for a moment with Clegane kneeling at her side, glowering at him.

He felt sick at his stomach. He had abbreviated some of the details he had given to Lady Catelyn, mostly said to shock and horrify the prim and proper woman.

She had practically thrown his own shit on him. He knew that he disgusted her in every way, and she did not even know him, the man who might have been her good brother, had he not been saved from that untimely match by taking the white. If they had been such to each other, perhaps things would have been different. Maybe no war between the Starks and Lannisters would have had need to happen. Jaime shook his head. It did no good to dwell on what might have happened.

He was now her daughter's good brother. He had another sister of sorts. A sister he did not really know. He had promised her mother to take care of her, and he would do his best—which was not as much as it once would have been.

"Why did you kill the king?"

Jaime shifted, wanting to smart off to her. But he remembered that had earned him a sword to his throat from the mother of this young woman.

"Forgive me, my Lady, but why do you ask such things. Didn't your lordly father tell you I was an oathbreaker? He beheaded oathbreakers. What do my reasons have to do with condemning me?"

"Ser, it may have escaped your observation, but I am not my father." Her breathing was heavy, and she released it in a slow and unsteady breath. She looked as if she had more to say.

He had noticed that she was not Lord Eddard. He remembered the younger Stark girl when they arrived at Winterfell. She was happy to announce that he was the Kingslayer. Sansa had told her to shut up. He had forgotten that until now.

"I do not think that you should love your brother less than I loved mine. I do not know why my mother took him. He never told me."

"I am sure you have heard the riddle, 'Who sees everything and knows nothing?' I killed the king because he was planning to burn the city with wildfyre rather than give it to the usurper. To be a knight, one takes so many damn vows."

"I know the vows that knights take well, Ser." She was looking at him differently now than she had been. "Lady Brienne, please show the Lord Commander to a room and see that no harm comes to him. I have much to think about."

She rose deliberately graceful from the table. She reached for Sandor's arm.

"I will see you for evening meal, I hope."

"If that is your wish," Jaime said, rising as well and watching after her. "Do you want to kill me?"

"I'm only beginning to know you, Ser."

What the hell did that mean? Jaime watched her as Sandor gently led her away. Unable to keep his silence as he saw her take the first step, he spoke.

"My sister would kill you."

Sansa turned. Her eyes were bright and glistened with a wetness.

"All the more reason to let you live, my Lord."


	32. Sansa XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is that part of—" She paused and took a deep breath, crossing her arms under her breasts. She pressed her hands tightly to her ribcage. "Part of why you came to my room?"

She held his arm, resting her cheek on it as they walked to their room.

Sansa breathed out a heavy sigh. He was here protecting her. She knew she could never tell him, but he was like the knights of stories. He came to her rescue. When her life had been in danger the day of the riot, Sandor had come to her first, not Joffrey. He had shoved her back up on the horse, swung up behind her and galloped away with her. She remembered when he veered off the main road for a short time, riding down a side street. She had held him as she had never held anyone during that mad ride.

"Do you think we might be able to go for a ride in a short time?" She rubbed her cheek softly on his arm after they went into the privacy of her room.

"I will go." Sandor shut the door behind her.

It would be good to have some peace after all the noise of the orphans. She was shocked by them all at first, and then she knew that she would have to find a way to help them one day when she was able. But there were so many, and she was so accustomed to being on her own with Sandor. It would also be nice to get Sandor a little more relaxed. He was still on guard.

What would she do with Ser Jaime? He might be able to do more for her than anyone else. His position in the Kingsguard gave him authority and power to enter even the Keep of her greatest enemies. He was also the brother of her husband, and her goodbrother in a strange way. She wanted nothing more that to be free of all Lannisters since the day Joffrey chopped her father's head off.

Tyrion had never been cruel to her like the other Lannisters, and he had always spoken highly of Jaime. He had no way of ever knowing or suspecting that she would come into contact with Ser Jaime this way. He had asked her once if she thought her mother would do a harm to Jaime. He had had that pleading, desperate look that sometimes crossed his face when he would look at her.

Brienne was also an incredible asset, assuming that she could trust either of them to any degree to be hers. She did not have to live life in hiding. No one would put her to death on sight. She could keep Ser Jaime in check, potentially. Assuming that either of them could trusted. At least, there was a system of them watching each other.

Sansa straightened her posture. She had to be strong. She had to be a lady. She had to make the decisions. Her brother had been King in the North. With all her brothers dead, she was the heiress to Winterfell. Did that make her a Queen in the North? Which of the Northmen could she even trust? They had gone to her brother. Would any of them serve her over the Boltons?

She needed to speak with Sandor at length as it was about the orphans. They could not leave them all here. These children needed food and clothing and a better shelter than this rundown inn for winter. Who knew what they would find at his Keep? The children might be able to help in unforeseen ways.

She needed some peace to think. There was so much going on. She had never had to think so much. Her father had done all the thinking for her during the first part of her stay in King's Landing. After he died, Sandor had helped where he could, but she had mostly been allowing Ser Dontos to think for her—except the real thinker had turned out to be Petyr Baelish.

The peace of a godswood had become her place to think, her place to be safe. There were likely no heart trees close by, but she could at least wander through the peace of the woods. The outlaws were her mother's men, and Sandor would be at her side. It might be wise to also take Gendry with her. He could follow them at a distance. He was a large and powerful boy. She needed to prove to him that Sandor was not as horrible as he believed that he was. Gendry was true to her. He had proved that when she met Lady Stoneheart.

She shifted some. Her fingers itched. She missed having sewing, her harp, her few books of poetry and song. She was not used to being idle. Hopefully, when she arrived at Clegane Keep, there would be some fabric. She would make another dress for herself, maybe in yellow. She had never had a yellow dress. She would sew for him too. Hopefully, it would not anger him.

Ser Jaime was an interesting man. She had never known a man like him. She went to the only chair in her room, letting her hand linger on Sandor's arm until she was out of reach. She did not want to make him upset, but it was a great deal of comfort to be able to rest a hand on his arm.

She poured a cup of wine for each of them.

She thought back on the bearded face of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He was different from the man that she remembered at her father's tourney, however, he had been imprisoned for at least a year. His imprisonment might have left an impression upon him as well. He never struck her, though he, like Sandor, was never compelled to do so by King Joffrey. Granted, unlike Sandor, he had never been present.

"Sandor," she carried a cup over to him. They had much to discuss. But that question suddenly weighed heavily on her mind. She had to know the answer.

He took the cup and downed it in one gulp. He grunted.

"Why did Joffrey never order you to hit me?"

He jerked around and looked at her.

She tucked her arms in close to her chest, letting her partially filled cup rest on her breastbone as she played her fingers over the lip of it. Maybe she should not have asked that question. But she could not help wondering.

"Might be he had other plans for what I would do to you," Sandor said after several moments of pause. He reached for the flagon and refilled his cup. He downed that just as quickly as the first. "Might be he thought I did not want to."

She had always known that Sandor did not want to hit her. He may have been hateful to her at points, but he would never strike her. She remembered once when he tried to make a beating stop. He had not been successful, but he had tried. But what other plan would Joffrey have for her? His only pleasure had been her misery.

"Like what?" She stared at him as he retreated in the small space available. She had not seen him drink more than a half cup of wine since he rejoined her.

He turned, looking over his shoulder at her.

"Nothing you could tell me about Joffrey would surprise me." She did not approach him. He was not himself, thinking about this. Maybe she should stop pressing him. She knew she would likely be disgusted by whatever she heard.

His shoulders slumped as he moved toward the window. He did not like thinking about this.

"He thought that I could break you in, before he wed you." Sandor slammed his fist against the wall. His whole posture reeked of guilt and anger that he had inside. "He said after he defeated Stannis, since you had your—moon blood, I would bed you. I was to humiliate you. He said that the dog could mount the wolf in the way of our sigils."

Sansa flinched at the loud thump. She closed her eyes. Did he mean that Joffrey planned to give her maiden's gift to Sandor?

He remained quiet then.

How did she comfort him? He clearly needed something from her. She remembered the last time she tried to offer him comfort, how he had rebuffed her. She set her cup down, taking a deep breath. She wanted to know. She would prefer him to any other. She remembered wondering once after Blackwater what would have happened had the kiss continued, would she have given herself to him? Would he have just taken what he wanted? Would it have felt good—the way Randa said it did?

"Is that part of—" She paused and took a deep breath, crossing her arms under her breasts. She pressed her hands tightly to her ribcage. "Part of why you came to my room?"

Sandor turned to her, looking into her eyes. He stiffened his back, though his shoulders remained somewhat slumped and defeated.

"Not why I came." Sandor moved to her and tilted her chin softly with his hand. "I did consider it after you arrived and locked your door."

Sansa looked into his eyes. She moved a hand to his wrist. It felt good to have a hand sliding along her chin and neck. She shift a little, tilting her head back a little more to look up at him. A kiss right now would be proper, if she was not married.

"Then I pulled a knife."

"And I sang the Mother's hymn." Sansa lowered his hand gently and bowed her head to kiss it. He had kissed her afterward.

"Did you hear me, Little Bird?" he rasped, giving his hand a light tug.

Sansa held his hand more tightly, drawing it to her. She pressed her lips to his palm, breathing softly.

"I heard you," she said, rubbing the tips of her fingers over the top of his hand. "You thought about it, but you didn't do it."

Sandor was silent as she lowered his hand. She led him to the chair and helped him to sit. She knelt in front of him.

"I have a request for you, Sandor." Her hands rested on his leg as she stared up at him softly. She would ask him about taking all the orphans with them. They could not simply take Gendry, who was the largest and strongest. It would leave all these children without their greatest asset, their best protector.

"I ought to take a turn guarding the Kingslayer," he said, struggling to rise. He looked down at her. His lip twitched more, and his gaze lowered from her eyes to explore the rest of her face. He looked away from her face.

"Sandor, please listen to me." She rubbed the tensing and bunching muscles. She could not take the children with her without him agreeing. Whether he would deny her any request, she was not sure. But it was Clegane Keep that they were going to for safety during the winter, not Winterfell. Winterfell would welcome the children eagerly. She had no idea what might be at Clegane Keep. It might be as miserable a place as the Fingers.

He stopped moving and looked down at her. He needed to hear some truths that she had long kept to herself but not all.

"Listen to me. I know what you thought about. I know what Joffrey offered you." She reached up and touched his good cheek.

He always would keep his hair covering the other cheek. He likely did not want her to touch his burned cheek. His hand moved gently out, sliding into her hair.

He was clearly uncomfortable because of the recent conversation, and she should never have spoken of it. She could not tell him that he was the man she thought of her wedding night, that she wished for him so often after he left. He would not want to know these things. She should not heap such upon him. They were together now. He wanted to keep her safe, and he was doing so.

"What matters is not what you think about. It is what you do and what you have always done. You have never raised a hand to truly harm me. You tried to warn me and help me in the Red Keep. You have often used your sword to save me. You saved me that day of the riot in King's Landing. You tried to save me the night of the Blackwater. You saved me from the knights that Petyr Baelish left as my protection. You saved me from the cold. We escaped the Quiet Isle the night of the attack because of you. You have always done what you could for me, even when I was not as kind to you as I should have been. You are my warrior."

It was almost blasphemous, what she had said. But she meant it. He was her Warrior. He always defended her.

Sandor slid his fingers through her hair, moving his other hand to her arm, pulling her close. He dipped his hand back and cupped the back of her head.

Sansa moved closer, pressing against him. She placed her hands on his stomach. She could feel his muscles and his heat. Her tongue darted out and licked her lips. Against her stomach, she could feel him. Would he kiss her again?

She stared at his mouth. She could see the burned side twitch a little. He lifted her up higher, draping her on his chest.

"Ummm," she murmured as a hand looped her waist. His fingers spanned the length of her lower back. She shifted up. She would.

He took a kiss last time. She would take a kiss this time.

She shifted her hands from his chest to his shoulders, gripping his cloak a little. She moved closer to his face. His heat was incredible. Her whole body felt warm and tingly in a way she had never imagined her body could feel.

Randa told her that the tingly feeling was what a woman should feel when she is about to kiss a man. It was how she knew that she wanted him. Sansa flushed.

She should not kiss him. She was married. Of course, she had been engaged while she was married as well. A kiss should be nothing compared to what had almost happened. She had been close to having two husbands simultaneously.

He lifted her up more on his chest.

She moaned softly at the feel of his body and his arms. He was very powerful. He was so much stronger and larger than she was. How he held her made her feel helpless. She knew she could do nothing if he decided to take something. She felt a rush of warmth at the safety his arms gave her. No one would dare to touch her while she was cradled in his arms. He would never take something from her that she was not willing to give.

He leaned close to her mouth for a moment. He leaned a little closer as if he wanted to kiss her but was unsure if he should.

She tilted her head up and to the side. She rubbed her lips together, wondering if this kiss would be like the other in any way. She would never forget that kiss. He had been good to her, despite how frightening he had been. She would not be married to a Lannister had she gone with him. She made a soft noise, almost a whining coming from her as she felt stiffness pressing against her stomach. She wiggled and pressed closer to him.

She leaned up a little closer. Their lips were almost touching, and she kept her eyes open, watching him. Her hands slid up, bunching in the fabric just below his shoulders. She pulled softly at the fabric, and Sandor leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. She closed her eyes. She leaned up, raising on her toes just a little to deepen the kiss.

Sansa heard a soft noise, almost a whining coming from her as she felt stiffness pressing against her stomach. She wiggled and pressed closer to him. She shifted up more, trying to press the stiffness to the building heat in her stomach.

A sudden thought crossed her mind. She shifted a little as she remembered what the queen said about a woman having a weapon between her legs. Would she be like Cersei if she continued this with Sandor?

Was that his tongue on her lips? Sansa moaned, parting her lips. His tongue was now—the pitch of her moan raised, and she pressed closer, twisting the fabric of his tunic.

She wanted more than this kiss him, but she could not marry him while she remained married to Tyrion Lannister. What if this hurt him? Did he even want to marry her? He always spoke of how he never made vows and was not a knight. What if he only wanted? She leaned back, breaking her lips from his.

She could not give herself to him—not entirely. He wanted her fully, but if he wanted more.

She had seen the hurt on Jaime's face when she mentioned the queen. It had been more confirmation than any words he could ever say, though it had not lasted long. The pain was so deep.

She did not want Sandor to be hurt that way. She could not hurt him so on purpose. It was unkind to tease him. She could not do that to Sandor. She cared for him. She did not want to see that look on his face if he would ever be open enough to show her such a pained expression.

He pulled back a moment later and stood. He lifted her away from him and set her down. He kept her held in place.

She glanced down and felt her blush deepen further. She wanted to be back in his arms. What did it matter that she was married? Her husband never claimed his rights. With the reward on Tyrion's head, she was practically a widow. Why should she not enjoy the love of a man who was good to her?

"I should go get the horses ready for your ride, my Lady."

"Sandor, I—"

"I will ask Lady Brienne to accompany you, Sansa."

"Sandor."

He did not look back as he retreated from the room so quickly that he did not take time to open the door.

Sansa felt a sickening sinking in her heart. She had upset him. She would have to find a way to make amends, and she had still not been able to talk to him about what was necessary. She would have him sent back after her ride. He needed time, even if she wanted just him to guard her. She wondered what all he felt he had to guard her from.


	33. Brienne IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So you see, I trust Sandor...A real hero would live for his lady, not die for her. Dying is easy. Living is what tests us.

Brienne was startled from her thoughts by the loud knocking at the door. She jerked her attention away from Ser Jaime who had not spoken to her since he was taken captive. He had not even had a look for her. She tried to apologize and coax him to talk to her, but it had done no good. She cared for him. 

He was pretending to be asleep to avoid talking to her.

She felt a deep surge of annoyance as the door was flung open. Why did men think that they had the right to do that? Why were men this way?

Sandor Clegane walked heavily into the room. His eyes were a darkened gray, and the burned side of his face was twitching. He was an ugly man. She had always been an ugly woman. They both found beautiful things enticing. She wondered what Clegane might want from Lady Sansa. He had such a look of fierceness to him when he had pointed the blade at Jaime when he approached Sansa.

"Lady Sansa requests that you go for a ride with her," Clegane said simply. He glowered at Jaime where he rested on the bed. "I'm to guard the Kingslayer. The smith is to go with you as well, at her request."

She looked him over, wondering whether it would be worth it to say anything about him barging into the room. It had been of little use in either the Stark or Baratheon camps. She would speak with Sansa about the tall man. Maybe the girl would open up about some of the times that she claimed Sandor had saved her. She could perhaps convince her that there were others just as capable of defending her, those with less questionable motives.

"Her horse is ready and waiting for her."

She left the room without a word. She went quickly and as quietly as she was able to Lady Sansa's room.

She would convince Jaime to speak to her. He had to understand. Perhaps Sansa might know something that could be of help to her. She had forgotten most of a woman's courtesies. She was so used to living in the world of men. Perhaps a softer touch would be of better use in convincing Jaime of her sincerity. But she would not be able to talk with Sansa about such in the presence of the young smith.

She knocked softly at the door.

"Come in," called the muffled voice from behind the door.

"My Lady," Brienne called opening the door.

Sansa was seated at the edge of the bed. 

Brienne jerked a little at the look of her. She was not the put together young woman she had been this morning.

Her hair was slightly mussed, and her dress was a rumpled as if she had been asleep or someone had been gripping it. Sansa looked over at her. She tugged her braid free and was combing her fingers through it as if to smooth it back to perfection. She had a wetness in her eyes and her lips were slightly redder than normal and drooped from their normal expression. The tension in her body made her look ready to snap like a drawn bow.

"Lady Brienne." She blinked rapidly, dispelling the wetness from her eyes. 

Why was she blinking back tears? Had Clegane upset her in some way? Was she trapped in some horrible memory? Brienne felt the urge to go to her. Often times when she least expected or planned for it, she was drawn back to the night that Renly was slaughtered by the shadow of Stannis Baratheon in the tent while Lady Catelyn was present. She did not know if she had the skills to comfort the highborn girl, but she was willing to try.

"Your horse is ready to ride," Brienne said, noticing the slightly sad and puzzled look in Sansa's eyes. "Are you well, Lady Sansa?"

"I have not had the pleasure or peace of the woods for some time. Running all the time is exhausting. The godswood was the only peaceful place I found in all my time at the Red Keep."

"I understand. You know that I am going to keep you safe, my Lady. I swore myself to your mother, and I swear myself to you now."

Sansa nodded. She trained her face into a neutral expression, though her lips were still slightly swollen.

"I understand that you wished for Ser Gendry to accompany us," Brienne offered, wondering how to convince the girl to open up to her. She never had many female companions. 

"I thought it best to have someone who knows these woods well. I thought he might know if there is a heart tree near. I hoped to pray to the old gods." Sansa stood and moved gracefully toward her. "I was also hoping to have a chance to discuss more about the Lord Commander."

Brienne stood a little straighter. She would stand by Jaime. She would fight for him if it came to that.

"Do you intend to give him a trial?"

"I am not sure what should happen to him. He is a difficult man to understand. All men are difficult."

Sansa walked at her right side down the hallway to the stairs. They moved down and left through the front door.

The sun was directly overhead as they crossed the yard toward the forge. Smoke was rising, and the ringing of a hammer could be heard. A hard, cold northern wind was blowing, but Lady Sansa did not even shiver under her white fur cloak.

Sansa walked confidently through the snow, lifting her feet and placing them down deliberately so her feet did not drag or kick the few inches of powdery snow. She lifted her skirts so they did not drag either. She raised a hand and pushed the door to the forge open.

A whoosh of hot air billowed out, hitting their faces. It was welcome against the deepening chill that was creeping over the land.

"Ser Gendry," Lady Sansa called. She stepped just over the threshold into the forge.

The ringing thud of the hammer ceased and the large boy walked over.

"How may I help you, my Lady?" the large boy approached. He glowered once at Brienne before turning his full attention to Sansa.

"Do you know these woods well, Ser?" Sansa's voice was soft and gentle as she asked the question.

"I know them well enough, my Lady. Are you taking a walk?" He looked around at the falling flakes of snow and the snow already on the ground.

"I was planning to take a short ride in the hope of finding a heart tree. Would you know the location of any?"

"Heart Tree?" Gendry's clear blue eyes showed his confusion.

"A weirwood. They are white with carved faces and red leaves," Sansa said, holding her hands in front of her. "I know the Andals destroyed all the groves, except on the Isle of Faces, but I thought maybe—one or two might remain."

"I apologize, but I have never seen such a tree in my life, my Lady," Gendry said, bowing his head slightly.

"We shall travel north once it is spring, and you shall see more than you ever believed could exist," Sansa said, reaching out to touch his hand gently. "If you wish to stay with me."

"I intend to stay with you, my Lady. Though you may have need to send me away." His eyes were bright. He looked ready for the opportunity to be sent on a quest by the lady. What sort of quest would the boy desire?

"It is difficult to foresee the needs one may have. I have much to discuss with you. Would you please accompany me for a ride?"

"I will do whatever you command," Gendry said, avoiding her eyes. He looked as though he were eager to ask questions and was holding them back. "I swore to serve you."

Sansa reached gently for the young man's arm. She wrapped her fingers around it gently.

"Is that your wish, Ser?"

"It is," Gendry assured her.

Brienne followed behind the pair. She had never seen a weirwood before either. She had been under the impression from Lady Catelyn that Sansa followed the new gods, not the old. But the girl had just asked after a weirwood. Perhaps Sansa had changed more than could have ever been foreseen.

What might she be planning with Jaime and herself? Why did she want to hold on to Gendry? Why had he sworn himself to her? Sansa seemed to have some sort of trust for the boy. He had saved her from Biter. He was a skilled fighter. 

"I understand about the queen wishing to see your head on a spike, and my head beside it—if she had her way. However, Ser, I still feel confused about why you sought me. You have mentioned my sister, Arya. I have not seen her in so long."

So the boy knew about Arya. Brienne felt a twinge of excitement. She would find the other Stark girl. She would keep the oath she made to take the girls to safety. 

Gendry straightened and looked toward the horse, gently tugging his arm free of her hold to lift her up onto the beautiful horse.

Sansa stiffened at this and kept her eyes locked on him. So she might not be as trusting of Gendry as she was of her other retainer.

"I did mention Arya." He went to the other horses, selecting the gray mare.

Brienne moved quickly and swung up onto the bay horse that Jaime had bought for her. She stroked the horse's cheeks lightly before mounting as she always did. She was not an ugly horse, and her eyes were large and gentle. She patted the animal's neck before checking the sword at her hip.

She wished it was Oathkeeper on her hip, but Sansa had relieved her and Jaime of the blade within moments of seeing it. The young Stark knew that sword and what sword had provided the steel for it. She had to trust Clegane deeply to offer the sword to him for her protection. Why? His reputation alone made it clear that he was not a man to trust. The reputation of his brother was only more frightening. If they were anything alike, Sansa could be in a trap.

Sansa was watching Gendry closely as they rode out on a small trail.

"It's my fault that your sister was not returned to your brother."

"You mean returned in time for the wedding where my brother and mother were killed by a horrible, devious, spiteful old man."

Gendry went curiously silent at that.

"Sandor did take her to the Twins, the seat of House Frey. Sandor told me that she tried to run in and save my mother, but it only would have gotten her killed. He stopped her from getting herself killed or captured. Arya would not be a good captive. It would be her death or theirs."

Gendry looked over at her with soft eyes.

"Arya is not like any girl I have ever met before." Gendry had a softened look before his expression became angry, but not angry with Sansa. It was more like he was furious with himself.

"Sandor did not want to hurt Arya. He would not let her hurt herself, either. I am asking you to trust my judgment of him. He is a good man, despite his gruffness."

Her eyes got a soft far off look in them for a moment, and she urged her horse slightly ahead of them down the path. She touched a place on her mouth as if remembering something.

"Lady Brienne, you gave me a," Sansa waited for her to catch up on her sides. "Passionate defense of Ser Jaime Lannister this morning."

"I meant every word, my Lady," Brienne said, meeting her eyes directly. "Ser Jaime has done wrong things, but he is not an evil man. If you give him a trial, and he asks for trial by combat, I would stand for him. You know that he could not help that his return to King's Landing occurred after such time as you had fled. He could not know that Arya would not be there either."

"I desire a story of a shared experience with him that proves your words, Lady Brienne. Tell me a story that proves that he is a man of honor. You accompanied him to King's Landing. Surely, you know of an instance of him being honorable."

Sansa was staring around at the forest as they rode.

Brienne licked her lips, thinking about Jaime.

"Your Lady Mother, Lady Catelyn Stark set the Kingslayer, Ser Jaime Lannister, free after making him swear many vows, vows to not raise his sword to Stark or Tully men, and most importantly to her, see that you and your sister were safely returned. It was made very clear to those outside the walls of the Red Keep, that Queen Cersei had you and your sister as her captives. After word arrived of the demise of her youngest children, Lady Catelyn was desperate to ensure your safe return to her. The Imp said that he would return you and Arya as soon as Ser Jaime was returned to King's Landing."

Sansa's blue eyes had turned to her directly. Her horse followed the trail as did Brienne's and Gendry's. The bare branches of the trees were veiled in their cloaks of icicles. The wind made the thinner ones clink together creating a soft music.

"We were captured by Lord Roose Bolton's men. He freed Jaime to be on his way after coming to an understanding that Jaime was to tell his father that Lord Bolton had no part in his maiming. The Lord of the Dreadfort then declared that I was not free to go. I was left behind when Jaime left the next day. The man who captured us was named Vargo Hoat. I was left to his delight. I was dressed in pink silk and given a blunted sword before being placed in the bear pits at Harrenhal. I was attempting to defend myself from being eaten. I had almost given up hope when Ser Jaime arrived. With nothing to defend himself, he ran and jumped into the bear pit to save me."

Sansa smiled a little.

"He saved you and now you wish to save him."

"It is more than that. He has done everything he could to honor his agreement. He could not leave King's Landing so quickly this time. He gave me money, part of your father's great sword, a horse, a letter signed by King Tommen stating that I was going about King's business and to be aided by the King's men. He also told me of the lie being perpetrated by his sister that a girl being sent to the Bolton's who was not Arya Stark, though the queen was telling Lord Bolton that she was. He did not want me risking my neck for a girl who was not who she appeared to be."

Sansa shifted.

"I believe in Ser Jaime, and I swore to help him find Lady Catelyn's daughters. I arrived where he was and told him of your situation as I understood it, and he said he left with me the morning after, which was as soon as we could without being followed."

Sansa shifted, easing the horse forward some. She looked back at Brienne.

Brienne met her eyes until she looked away, freeing Brienne to close her eyes to hold in her emotions. Brienne refocused her attention as soon as Sansa spoke to their other companion.

"Ser Gendry, perhaps you might share a story with me about my sister."

Gendry was silent for a moment. He gazed down at the horse he was riding. He was pained by memories of Arya.

"We were captured by the Mountain after our group journeying to the Wall was attacked by Ser Amory Lorch," he said. His voice was soft as he spoke. "We were taken to Harrenhal. I was safe because I confessed to being a smith's apprentice."

He paused a moment.

"Before hand, Arya had freed some men who came from the Dark Cells. She thought they would help us. She was wrong. Yoren told us not to speak to them or go near them. He knew what they were, but he never told us. They frightened me, though Arya claimed that she was not frightened of them. I told her she was a fool."

They turned their horses around at the edge of a nearly frozen stream. Only the sounds of chirping birds, horse hooves crunching in the snow were heard with the soft words he spoke.

"We were trapped there. Arya became the cupbearer of Lord Tywin Lannister. She refused to look down or bow when he rode into Harrenhal in his armor on his large horse. I'd never seen a lord like him before. We watched people tortured by the Mountain and his men. One of the men from the Dark Cells was named Jaqen something. He was from across the narrow sea. He and Arya formed some strange friendship. I do not know much about it, but somehow, she arranged with him for us to leave that castle the day that Lord Tywin left to fight at King's Landing."

Gendry paused here as if recalling something frightening.

"Hot Pie, Arya, and Me, mostly Arya, really. She wanted out and away from Lannisters. After what happened to Lord Stark, I understood. All I know is that she made some deal with the man to help us escape. He said to walk through the gate at midnight. The gate was surrounded by a dozen or more guards. All were dead when we went through. Arya made it possible for us to escape before we became food for the ravens. She was the first to go through the gate. She saved us."

Brienne felt a chill in her bones as she heard about this man. She had seen Lady Catelyn. The woman was half a corpse. If Lady Catelyn could be resurrected, this man could have killed all those people. She remembered the stories she had heard of a temple in Braavos. A temple of assassins, the best in the world, a faceless man. Could Gendry really have encountered a faceless man, here in the seven kingdoms?

"Have you seen this man since?" Brienne wondered what such a man might do. How did one even know such a creature on sight?

"Once, the day after our escape, but not since." Gendry looked away. "I'm glad to not see him, and I hope to not see him again, ever. He was a dangerous man, who would like kill anyone."

Brienne nodded.

"Did Arya leave with this man?"

"No, she was determined to find Robb, your mother, and you. It was all she wanted. She said I could serve her brother, make him swords and the like. She wanted us to stay together." Gendry trailed off. He looked sad and angry and hurt. He turned his face away from Sansa.

They rode a good ways back along the trail in silence. Overhead, they could see the curling of smoke coming the chimney of the inn.

"You have both shared stories with me. I will share a story with you as well." Sansa reached a hand up and touched the hanging icicles. She pondered as she broke one off. The others tinkled as the branch snapped back.

"It starts, in a way, the day that Ser Barristan Selmy became the first dismissed knight from the Kingsguard. Sandor Clegane was named to replace him. I went to ask the king for mercy for my father. I knew what they said he had done. They had not allowed me to see him, though I had asked a few times. They insinuated that they thought I might be a traitor because I wanted to see him. I was so worried. I knew that he was locked in the dungeons. I was all alone. My sister was gone, and all the northerners had been killed, but I did not believe what Jeyne Poole told me about it. I did not believe it at all. I had never seen real evil before, or maybe I chose to be blind to it for far too long."

Sansa rolled the icicle back and forth before dropping it. The horse's hoof stepped on it, cracking it.

"Joffrey said if my father repented of his treason, he would show him mercy. I believed him, very foolishly. Within a few days, we went to the Sept of Baelor. I believed my father was to be set free, perhaps forced to join the Night's Watch. Instead, he was beheaded in front of me and the crowd cheered. I passed out. It was a some days later. I am uncertain how many. I was so sick with my grief that I could not eat a bite."

Sansa shifted around in the saddle.

"King Joffrey decided that he wanted to see his betrothed. He came with several knights, some of them Kingsguard. He ordered me to get up, which was the last thing I wanted. All I wanted was to go home to Winterfell, which was where my father intended for me to be sent the day that he was taken captive."

Her voice was choked, and it was clear that she was holding back tears and some information.

"The King ordered Sandor to help me from my bed. He was so gentle. I did not appreciate it at the time, but he was sparing me from a worse fate. That was the day that Joffrey took me to show me where he put my father's head, on a spike over the dry moat. He forced me to look at it. After, he said he would give me my brother's head. For some reason, I can't explain, I said that maybe Robb would give me his head. I truly hoped that Robb would. He was a good brother to me. Joffrey was furious and ordered Ser Meryn Trant to chastise me."

Her voice broke as she continued. She took a small pause for breath.

Brienne felt a deep stabbing pain. What kind of monster beats a little girl? She would kill that man if she ever saw him. He was no knight. She longed to reach out to Sansa.

"My lip was bleeding, and Sandor gave me his handkerchief after he dabbed the blood from my lip. He was so gentle in that moment." Sansa reached into the bodice of her dress and removed something. 

Brienne urged her horse forward a little faster. She saw that the young woman was holding a white handkerchief. There was a dark brown stain on it.

"He told me after Joffrey threatened me and left, that if I wanted to save myself pain, I should give him what he wants—be his lady love and be sweet to him. It was good advice. It did save me more beatings, of that I am certain. He saved me from another on Joffrey's name day, by corroborating a lie that I told Joffrey, because I did not wish to see another man killed."

The front door of the inn was in view as she finished her story.

"So you see, I trust Sandor. He has always helped me as he was able. I used to think that the songs where the hero dies at his Lady's feet were the most romantic, the best and sweetest and most beautiful. They aren't. A real hero would live for his lady, not die for her. Dying is easy. Living is what tests us. He lived for me."

Sansa dismounted.

"I hope you both understand that I will not allow anyone to be between Sandor and myself, and that trying will only—upset—me. I have a feeling that my mother would not like that. The Captain of my Guard and sworn shield prefers to see me without tears."

She patted her horse's neck before climbing up the stairs.

"Lady Brienne, I would have Sandor sent to me before dinner. I desire him at my side when I share dinner with Ser Jaime. I would have you escort him to a private dining room in an hour's time."

Brienne watched the young woman walk into the inn. She was a lady, if she was nothing else.


	34. Sandor XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the giant wench had a belly for fighting to go with her sword after all.

Sandor stood with his back blocking the door of the Kingslayer's chambers from the inside. Time was lost on him as he watched the Kingslayer play at sleeping, and his mind was free to wander all the little twists and turns of the paths that kiss had cleared.

He shifted his feet heavily, wishing he could go out and take care of his need to soothe the throbbing in his cock. Right now though, the little bird might go looking for him. He would not be caught pleasuring himself with her name on his lips. It would be inconceivable to have to explain it, though she seemed to be far more wise now than she had been in the past. Besides, someone had to keep an eye on the Kingslayer.

His fingers itched as he remembered the way her warm body felt in his arms and her sweet arse felt filling his hands. She had moaned at his kiss. He could have had her then, easy as scooping her up and putting her on the bed. He wondered briefly what she remembered the other kiss as being. He wondered if she had liked it, if this one now blazing through his mind was better than the other he did not remember.

What had she thought of him when he was groping her? She had not asked him to stop. She had wiggled and pressed closer to him. A growl rumbled in his chest. Gods, his blood was up. He needed a fight or a woman. Closing his eyes, he managed to steel his desire to go hunt his bird down and here the entirety of her song. He would hear her song again and again.

Sandor stomped over to the bed. He reached out and took the lion by the whiskers and paw, flinging him onto the floor.

The surge of delight filled his belly better than Dornish sour as he saw the Lion of Lannister jerk to life. No more pretense. No more games. The lion needed a lesson about dogs that ran with wolves.

"What the hell is going on?" Jaime asked, glowering at the large man as he managed to catch himself before face planting. Rolling to the side to avoid a kick to the gut, Jaime winced as a small bit of weight was put on his stump of a hand.

Sandor glared and shoved his boot against the Kingslayer's ribs.

"If you are planning anything—" he aimed a kick at the belly of the lion. Jaime grunted. "That might hurt Lady Sansa, you are going to die painfully. You think you know what a mad dog does—imagine what a dog that runs with wolves does."

"No tricks. I swore to take—" Jaime struggled to breath and get away from the kicks, but Sandor closed the gap to continue making his point.

A fierce kick slammed Jaime hard in the shoulder. He could not have the little bird as he wished to have her. Sharing his pain was not proving as cathartic as Sandor had hoped. He would settle for making his point firmly to the Kingslayer about what would happen should he decide to do something that could cause Sansa trouble.

Jaime fell on his side. A little bit of blood trickled down the side of his lip that he raised a hand to wipe.

Sandor pressed a foot hard on the side of Jaime's face. It was sweet to see the Kingslayer pinned this way, just as it had been sweet seeing him knocked flat. He had been determined to show the pretty bird that a pretty face did not make the best knight. When his first lance had been unbroken by the Kingslayer's stupid trick, his resolve had deepened and he broke the lance across Jaime's helm. A dark laugh came from his lips as he remembered how the blow had bent Ser Kingslayer's helm to his head.

"And your vows are never broken, right, Lannister?"

Lannister did not deserve her mercy, her kindness. Not that anyone could ever deserve her, but he could endeavor to be so worthy. He craved her attention the way a starving dog craved a bone, and fighting for that treat was only natural.

"I do not wish to see my goodsister killed," Jaime said, coughing and struggling to his knees after the boot was removed from the side of his face.

"So brotherly love is motivating you?" Sandor snarled. He had been there when Tywin Lannister had told Jaime to lie about the Imp's first wife. "I know how you treated your brother and how you fucked your sister."

The Kingslayer struggled to his feet, looking up at Sandor.

"I want to be better than I have been. Surely, you understand that. You ran—"

A fist whipped through the air connecting with the Kingslayer's jaw. He would not be reminded of the night he failed to save Sansa, especially by the Kingslayer. She was probably alive today because he had not dragged her along. A defense was on his lips, but he decided to keep his own council as he had so often on the Quiet Isle and in King's Landing.

"Ser, what are you doing?"

Sandor looked around. He had been so busy teaching the Kingslayer a lesson that he had not heard the sound of the wench returning.

"Not a fucking ser."

The blade, Oathkeeper, leaped into his hand from the scabbard. He lowered the fine weapon to touch the side of the blond whiskered cheek.

"Put your sword away." 

"Not hurting him. I'm making a point though."

He heard the ring of steel being bared.

"If you hurt him," she cut off, attempting to move between him and the Kingslayer.

So the giant wench had a belly for fighting to go with her sword after all.

"See that you remember the importance of your goodsister's health." He dragged the blade down the side of Lannister's face, sending part of his blond beard floating to the floor.

"Put it away," Brienne said again, though she did not attempt to knock the blade away from Jaime's cheek.

Smart wench. She knew it would be just as likely to take off the knight's head if she failed. 

"Lady Sansa has asked for you to be at her side during dinner, Clegane."

The giant woman bleated like a cow. As if he would be anywhere else while his little bird was meeting with a lion. He wanted to be with her more than anything. He would take care of her, and obey her.

"I know my place without you telling me."

"I was simply telling you what Lady Sansa asked of me."

The sound of his feet was loud in the hall as he moved swiftly down it. He would not go into her presence in this state. His cock was twitching and straining. Privacy was the only way to handle his needs. He would not risk her knowing what she had to already know.

Sansa did not have a personal guard with her now. But if he went to her, he did not know if he could control himself yet. He could not take the chance of tarnishing his pretty song bird.

She was married. His blood boiled as he thought of it. The Imp—why had they made her wed the Imp? They wanted the North, and marrying her to a Lannister had been the easiest way to assure them of it. His breath was sucked into his lungs and released slowly as he imagined shortening an already short man. Sansa would never be his as long as the Imp lived.

The porch of the inn wrapped around the entirety of the main building. At the back, there was no one to be seen. A long pile of chopped wood stretched the length of the lot. He walked out and slipped behind it. Leaning back, he unlaced his breeches with a sigh.

His cock pulsed furiously in his hand and twitched in excitement as he remembered how she had pressed against him. Her lips pressed closer to his. Her hands clutched his shoulders. He slid his hand down giving himself a long stroke as his head tipped back.

The image of her naked with water pouring over her breasts and back and delicious smooth backside echoed behind his eyes as they drooped shut. He pumped his cock more vigorously and firmly, remembering her melodious words when he walked in on her. She suggested he might claim his rights to her as her husband. The only problem was that he was not her husband.

"Sansa—"

His pleasure swept through his body as he collapsed back against the wood. When he finished, he tucked himself back within the confines of his trousers. A shuddering breath misted the air as he laced his breeches.

He slipped around the edge of the pile, grabbing a large log and taking it to the chopping block. He placed it down and grabbed the ax. It whistled through the air, slamming down hard through the large log and splitting it cleanly into two pieces. Collecting one of the pieces, he split it again.

The manual labor would serve a purpose. Hopefully, he would manage to vent his feelings after being interrupted earlier. The soft sound of small soft footsteps, lady's footsteps, penetrated his fog a short time into the work.

"Sandor."

He raised his head, gazing up at her.

One tiny hand was wrapped around one of the porch's pillars, and a soft look was on her face. A portion of her hair was braided into crown wrapped around the top of her head while the rest hung in curls down her back. Snowflakes landing on them glittered in the light of the small lantern she held.

"I was worried about you."

He did not answer. She never took offense to his silence. Instead, he stooped and gathered a number of the logs he had further chopped.

"Won't you speak with me?" Soft eyes blue as a spring sky watched him hopefully.

"Supper will be ready soon, Little Bird. Should be enough wood to keep you warm tonight."

"You always keep me warm enough."

Sandor shifted, looking away from her as he gathered more wood that he had chopped. What did she mean by that? She would not want anything to do with him. Why was she teasing him? Was it just teasing or was it real? There was no way she could know that he had listened in on her conversation on that first night after they were reunited. She said she thought about his kiss, one he never gave, every day.

"Please, I wanted to talk to you about something important."

She did not approach him and backed out of his way as he stepped onto the porch. Her small footsteps followed him as they walked around to go through the main entrance to go directly to the dining room.

Why was she always so gentle to him, so polite? He did not deserve it. She had done something to him, bewitched him in some way. He did not care enough to try to break the spell. He wanted her to know him.

Stooping by the fireplace in the room where she had eaten her breakfast with the blond knight, he arranged the logs in a neat pile before adding a few logs to the fire in a neat pile. Stoking the fire for her was not his job, but he did not wish her to catch cold, and none of the logs had been ready for a fire.

They crackled and popped sending an ember out onto the stone hearth surrounding it. It died, leaving only a small piece of gray ash. He moved softly to her chair and held it for her.

She smiled at him, resting a hand on his lightly. It nearly made his heart beat out of his chest. How could a simple upturning of a woman's lips do that? Only his mother and his sister had ever smiled at him, and they had both died before he was burned. Her smile was worth facing any foe.

"I have something very important that I want to talk to you about, Sandor."

She did not have to say anything. It was so clear what she thought and felt. No woman would want more with him. He was deformed and hideous. The little bird had not even been able to look at him when he first approached her. All he had done was say a few words to her, tried to give her courage when she saw Ilyn Payne.

"Your guest is here, Li—ady Sansa."

The thought of her saying those things after kissing him made him want to run and tuck his tail between his legs. But he would slink back to her.

Sansa moved to sit in her chair. She let her hand linger on his for a moment.

"I hope we may speak after I have dinner, please Sandor."

"As you wish," he said, inclining his head. He would do anything she wished. She would never try to hurt him. She had never been cruel to him purposefully. Kindness was just a part of his little bird.

Sandor ignored the dinner conversation after he heard the gentle inquiry about why Ser Jaime had chosen to shave a portion of his beard.

He would stay and be her dog. A dog was all he was. How could he have fooled himself so badly into believing that a beautiful young girl, perfect in every way, would look at an ugly man more than a decade older than she was? Stupid dog. He was still hers, and always would be as long as she wanted him. She had wanted him to stay with her the moment he revealed himself. She had called him to save her.

She would tell him that she could not be with him. There would be polite words about why, but at the end it would be the same. He was a dog. She was a lady.

"Sandor, would you escort me to my room?"

Hearing his name from her lips shook him from the way he was aching and beginning to feel anger. She had not meant to play with him, but she tempted him with something that had always been beyond his grasp. He had resigned himself long ago to the idea that the only woman who would willingly enter his bed without being offered coin for her trouble. Maybe he should help her understand what happened when she played with dogs. It might help her to feel what she did to a man.

She placed a hand on his arm, directing it in front of her so both of her hands had easy access. He felt all the anger leave him as she put her cheek on his arm for a moment.

His breath hitched slightly as he felt her heartbeat and her breasts on his arm. His left hand itched to reach across and cradle her hands against his arm. Her hands were so soft and gentle. They would be heaven against his body, threading through his hair while he made love to her.

He opened the door for her and waited for her to enter.

She went directly to the table and poured watered wine into the two horn cups.

"Please, sit, Sandor."

Walking slowly and keeping his his eyes focused anywhere but on her lovely face, he moved to the only chair. She seemed to want him to have the chair often. He sat, and she knelt at his feet, docile and sweet. He wondered if ladies sat this way with their lords. It was intoxicating to have her huddled between his legs. If she was his, he would hold her this way every day and more.

She brought over a horn cup and offered it to him before she took a place on the fur carpet in front of the chair. She gazed up at him from her place beside his right knee.

"I wanted to speak with you about something." Her voice was soft and gentle as she placed a hand on his right thigh. Those hands were as soft, applying no more pressure than a song bird.

It was about to happen. She was going to tell him that she would not kiss him again. She would claim it was a mistake. He could not look at her. To hear the words would be worse than all his knowledge of what would come had been this afternoon. As soon as she kissed him and said she wanted to talk, he wanted to leave. He should not have allowed himself the poison of hope.

"It's about the orphans."

He jerked and looked down at her. What did she want to talk about them for? She did not want to talk about the kiss. What did that mean?

"Winter is not coming. Winter is here. They will not survive without help."

The nice orphans and the nice bandits who had robbed him. She wanted to help the thieves. He fought to keep his silence instead of snapping at her.

"We do not know what we will find at your home. We both know the terrible actions of which your brother was capable. Can we really trust anyone in your home?"

Sandor paused for a moment to consider. The maester had helped in the lie about his burns. The septon had anointed his brother. The servants were doubtlessly terrified. Having anyone who had been exposed to his brother for too long would be a bad idea to keep around. It might be best to put them to the sword. Less risk of them coming back to cause trouble.

"No. I should ride ahead and see that they are not there." He did not add that the big wench and the blacksmith boy who had sworn to serve and protect her would be helpful in assuring her safety. If only there were still reliable ships sailing the narrow sea and he had the coin to take her to one of the free cities, but he did not have that kind of money here. The more they moved, the more likely they were to be captured. They had been a few times already.

"A castle does not run itself. I am certain that all the children would be capable of helping us. We—we must do what we can and help whom we can. The Starks have survived the winter with their people. These children are our people in a way."

Sandor did not look forward to having the dozens of children, but Sansa's arguments for taking them were sound. The Keep would be difficult to take by himself unless he sneaked in after dark and murdered them all in their sleep. There would be no one to protect Sansa during that time. If she was fine, she would see all that blood. He did not want her to see that. She had seen her father's blood spilled. A castle could not be run by two people.

"Jeyne and Willow are good with the children. They keep them in line and under control. It will be easier to survive if we are together. Gendry knows smithing. A castle needs a smith."

He shifted a bit, thinking on the words. Our people. He had never imagined having a group of people that was not an army in his care. Well, they would mostly be in the watch of his little bird, but he watched her and hers.

"A large group attracts attention."

"A large group has more swords." She took his hand gently with both of hers and kissed his middle knuckle. "I think we need them as they need us."

Sandor withdrew his hand enough to cup her cheek. She was asking him his opinion. She was not making all the decisions for him. She was his Lady. He was not her Lord, but she gave consequence to him anyway.

"I know we can help these children. They can help us, too, Sandor. We should do what we can for whom we can. I am certain that the outlaws will help us get the children to your home. They are my mother's men, and my mother would deny me nothing."

He slid his fingers back through her curls. Helping all the children would make her happy. She was right that they could be of use running the castle. The biggest one had the head for running this Inn.

"We will take whichever children will come with us." Sandor was silent for a moment. He left the thought incomplete. It was all for her. The feeling of her soft auburn curls sliding between his fingers was delicious. The vision of her tiny pink tongue licking her lips sent a thrum of desire pounding through him.

Why would she ask his opinion about anything? She was asking his permission to bring the orphans along.

"Thank you, Sandor." She leaned up against him. She rested her cheek over his heart. "Thank you so much."

In a flash, he was back in the forest, asking the wolf-bitch if she remembered where the heart was. He had been hoping for mercy and received none.

"Little Bird—" Why did she do this to him? She had plucked his leash from the Lannisters as if they never really held it. Her soft hand was soft with its hold.

"Are you hungry? I should get you something to eat." Sansa rose to her feet.

Sandor transferred his hands from her face to her waist. His eyes dropped, pausing briefly on her breasts. Just the tops of them were visible over the bodice of her gown. He pulled her between his legs, gazing up at her. It would be nice to bury his face in her tits.

He was definitely hungry but not for anything the older girl had been cooking today.

"Just wait here. I'll be right back."

Sandor stood up. She took the trouble to feed him herself. No lady had ever troubled herself to serve him. Even the serving wenches would just point him in the direction of the whatever he had wanted in the Red Keep.

Sansa moved her hands to rest on his shoulders. Her eyes drifted between his eyes and lips shyly. A soft blush tinged her cheeks as she pressed a little closer.

He rose slowly, keeping a firm hold on her. He brushed a finger over her cheek.

She moved closer, sliding her hands down to rest on his chest.

"Sandor, I—" Sansa lifted on her toes.

"You don't need to trouble yourself with feeding me," he rumbled when she was almost brushing her lips to his. It was time for him to leave her, before he did something stupid.

Remembering Lannister's words about his 'goodsister' made him scowl. He would free the pretty bird from any captor who sought to cage her.

"What is it, Sandor?" She stretched her hand toward his face.

He leaned toward her mouth. Did she want another kiss? Could he give her one and not want more?

She tilted her head and their lips brushed ever so slightly before he lifted back. He wanted more, and she was married. Her marriage meant shit to him, but she was a lady. And Ladies did not give more to men who were not their husbands. He would respect her. He was not fit to even aspire to more with her.

"I will send Lady Brienne to protect you."

He stepped around her and left the room.

"Sandor?"

He moved quickly down the hall to fetch Lady Brienne. If she called him again, he would return to her. He wanted another kiss and more, but he was undeserving. He had saved her life more than once, but only a husband had a right to her maiden's gift. She should have a proper prince like the ones from her stories and songs to marry. He would kill the Imp and then find her a good lord to marry.


	35. Jaime II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Surely, if I was to be killed, I would already be dead. What does the little lady plan with my tattered body? Am I to become a toy for her prized hound?"

Brienne heaved a sigh of relief.

He cut his eyes over at her and fought not to snap at her a bit. Lady Sansa wanted something. It seemed a certainty that by this point that she was not going to kill him. Why did Brienne even care after betraying him? She knew that he wanted to save the Stark girl.

Jaime paused and stared out a window on the main level. He could not help musing about how he was lucky that Sansa was every bit a lady, more of a lady than any he could ever remember meeting. She touched his hands and acted as though there was nothing to cause her disgust or repulsion. Granted, with Sandor Clegane as her main companion, she was used to looking at worse.

He sighed, pausing by the fire in his room once they arrived.

This was heaps better than the accommodation he had been given the night before by whatever the hell that creature had been.

The little Lady Sansa had been unhappy when she learned that no one had told her that he was being accommodated on a pole out in the yard. Her apology seemed sincere, but she had not been willing to have him brought in until she was dressed and ready to receive him—despite whenever she learned of his situation. It was probably to enforce that she was in control. He hoped that she knew how sincere he was when he said he would not have allowed Joffrey to torture her. He wondered briefly if he should have shared what else he knew about how the Mad King had treated his wife. He did not know if it would make her more inclined or less to believe him.

"You know, Ser, it is not a crime to keep your mouth closed."

Probably good advice, but he had not asked her opinion.

"What better advice to follow than your own," Jaime remarked as soon as he was shut in the room with her. He detached the golden hand and rubbed his stump gently.

The girl showed no strain that he could tell, but he did not know the lady well. The only woman whose reactions he did know well were Cersei's, and she had not even been able to come to him when she desired comfort after the death of her son. She stood and waited for him to come to her. She came to him only if she was desperate, only to use him, the way she used all men.

All he remembered and observed of Sansa was that she listened. She was kind to everyone around her. He remembered being angered after Robert had shoved him down in one of his drunken rages the day before Clegane unseated him in the Tourney of the Hand. He had stomped out to cool down for a while. He had seen Clegane escorting Sansa and followed them. He had been curious and concerned for her safety. She was to be the queen one day. It was his job to protect her. He also thought it would have been delicious to rescue the girl and have the girl sing his praises to the insufferable man.

"I'm on your side." Brienne rolled her eyes.

Jaime felt a surge of delight. It was fun to get a rise out of her.

"Is that what you told yourself as you tied me to the post?"

Then she offered to fight for him. Like he needed a great ugly wench to fight his battles. The most appalling and infuriating part was that he would not stand a chance fighting his own battle, and Lady Brienne would be a fine champion for anyone who required one in trial by combat. He would match her up against any member of the Kingsguard under his command, and she would probably win.

Lady Sansa had said as much, that she did not want him harmed. Who knew what she wanted? He could not let any harm come to her.

His golden hand fell on the small table with a moderate thunk.

"Can I trust my hand with you?"

He closed his eyes against that. That was a stupid thing to say. She had not wielded the sword that had removed his hand. She had done what she could to protect him.

Brienne did not respond further than a slump in her shoulders.

He desired nothing more than to bait her for a moment, just as he had in the beginning with all his barbs. She was not willing to be drawn into another fight with him. At least she was not recounting all his crimes again. For some of them, there would be no defense that could save him.

Jaime paced around the perimeter of the room and poked at the simple straw mattress on the bed. Not terrific as he could attest from earlier, but it was better than being in a dungeon covered in his own shit and better than being chained to a post in a yard with snow piling on his head.

"What do you think Lady Sansa means to do with me?" Any idea of what she might want would be nice.

Brienne had spent time with Sansa earlier. It was possible that Sansa might have questioned her about him or mentioned ideas. What had they spoken of? What did women talk about without men around?

Brienne walked to the door and stood in front of it to prevent him from trying to leave.

"She said nothing of her plans to me."

Jaime fought not to roll his eyes as he stopped by the bed and tugged as best as he was able at his armor. Without a sword and a swordhand, he had as much chance of escape as Robert had drunk alone against a wild boar. Struggling slightly with his still quite clumsy left hand, he managed to remove his breast plate after several moments.

Brienne looked out the window. He was given as good as was available in this place at this time. Was this something Brienne had made possible? Had she asked for him to be released from the pole, or had it been the young Stark who saw to it on her own?

He tugged his tunic off over his head and caught her staring at him again. His eyes cut to her again as she looked away.

He glanced down at his bare chest. Since he started eating better and being able to fight again, albeit poorly with his left hand, his muscles had started refinding their old definition to his relief.

Why was she looking away? She had seen him more undressed. Her indignation and annoyance with him had been clear. The thought made him grin. Seeing her so affronted made him wonder if she had taken to heart one of his statements to her he made on their travels. All he had wanted when he had done so was to relax in the warm, soothing water. He remembered how his cock had twitched, and he thought he must have gone mad from all his time without Cersei to be finding the wench attractive.

He had smarted off to her once, saying that he was strong enough to do as he pleased to her. When she told him she would fight him off, he had done all but laugh at her. The fact that he would not hurt her seemed lost on the wench. He had never raped a woman. He only ever bedded Cersei, and Cersei only ever bedded every man in the Seven Kingdoms.

She left him to the bath quickly after he joined her, though stayed to listen to his words. He ought not to have walked into her bath. He could have been more respectful, but he had needed to let it all out, everything he had kept hidden inside from every person—even his twin, even his brother. It seemed so important in that moment that the loyal wench understand that things were not so simple as she thought them, that decisions he had made were not all they appeared.

"Come now, my Lady, since you betrayed me, the least you can do is tell me what the plan is," Jaime said, sitting back on the bed. He did not smile. "Surely, if I was to be killed, I would already be dead. What does the little lady plan with my tattered body? Am I to become a toy for her prized hound?"

He did not cherish being kept around to be beaten and abused. Granted, the blue eyed girl had inquired about why he had seemed so beat up. A pretty lie was easy enough to find. She had looked back at Clegane for a moment in curiosity and then told him she hoped he would be careful and not have another accident.

"I do not know all of Lady Sansa's plans. She does not trust me with her every confidence. If you want to know more, you should ask her personal guard. And he might not appreciate the way you are talking about him."

"A dog from my own castle's kennels, yes. She does seem quite fond of the giant non-knight." Jaime stretched his arms up and around to cup his head. Clegane was clearly protective of her too. What did Clegane expect from her, if anything?

"If Lady Stoneheart still wants—" she began.

"I think the younger one successfully put an end to that plan, though to what purpose I am certain I know not." Jaime stretched his entire body. Did she want him to spy on his sister? He would not help her do anything that might harm Tommen. Tommen was a sweet, gentle, kind boy. It was nothing but a dream, though, to take his son and daughter back to the Rock with Cersei to live peacefully.

He scowled at the ceiling and kicked his boots off. Torturing himself with such thoughts was pointless. Back in captivity and to a Stark no less, he could only remember his laughter when a taste of freedom teased his tongue after the wench and Lady Stark had sent them floating down the Red Fork of the Trident toward King's Landing. After thrusting his head under the water, he flung it back as he laughed. He ran his fingers through his hair.

"Did you tell her that I like to try to escape?" Jaime asked. He stopped suddenly, cutting off the end of what he planned to say. At least he was getting some better about keeping his mouth shut, but he was certain he tried the nerves of Brienne. She, however, rather deserved it after her deception. It was probably just as bad for Sansa having to deal with him, but Sansa did not say a word about it or show her irritation as easily as Lady Brienne.

"I did not tell her all that I know of you, Ser."

Jaime sat up more and observed her.

What would Lady Brienne conceal? She knew much about him, more than enough to condemn him to death in a Stark's eyes. She knew that he was responsible for pushing the young Stark boy and crippling him. Was it possible she did not tell Sansa something to add to his crimes against the Starks in the eyes of perhaps the only living Stark?

"Do I owe you my thanks for that?" It might have saved his life.

Brienne did not answer.

Maybe she was thinking she should have told Lady Sansa everything she knew about him. Lady Sansa already knew that he committed incest. She knew he was the father of the queen's children. She knew he had attacked her father and been one of the causes of his crippling, but he had also spared the older Stark. A flash of anger welled in him as he remembered how Lord Stark thought it was okay to order his wife to take Tyrion. Tyrion had done no wrong. Of his conduct toward the Starks, he was completely certain.

"They say 'A Lannister always pays his debts.'" Brienne said, still staring out the window.

"So we do," Jaime said, staring at the flagon on the table that only contained water. He scowled at it. Wine was always preferable to water, though it had been wise of Sansa to limit the intake. It did not take much wine to loosen the tongue of an already honest man who was going slightly mad in a dungeon.

"Do you feel that you have a debt owed to the Starks?"

"Would I be here if I didn't?" Jaime asked, resting back on the pillows. "I intend to keep her safe, though I have no idea where she can go to be safe. Cersei may be returning to Casterly Rock, or I would send her there. Her home was demolished by the Greyjoys. I am sure your father, Lord Selwyn, would welcome her, but Tarth is so close to King's Landing that they would inevitably be found out."

Jaime sighed, leaning back. Cersei might die for her crimes if the High Septon had his way. She had asked him to come and die for her, when he knew that she was guilty of what she was accused. The only family of Sansa's he knew the location of was her uncle, and he was a captive at Casterly Rock.

"Perhaps, Clegane has a plan for where to take her. They have recently come together." Jaime shoved his feet against the foot-board. The only place Clegane had was that miserable small castle deep in the hills of the Westerlands. He had visited the castle only once with his father. Cersei had also come along. Afterward, she declared she never wanted to go to such a place again, and she had never returned. She never even spoke of the place.

Brienne scowled. Her eyes were flashing as her jaw clenched. Her fingers were twitching as if they were hoping to be filled with a blade.

"Would Clegane hurt her?"

"Not long ago, I would say the Hound would never run from a fight or betray the Lannisters."

Lifting up on his elbows to observe the woman, it was hard not to notice her tension and the slight hurt in her eyes as she looked him over.

"It is a point of concern," Jaime said, shifting so he was leaning back on his elbows. "What do you think of him being with her? He is a dangerous man. He could easily hurt her."

"And you aren't a dangerous man?" Brienne asked. "She trusts him."

"Not so dangerous anymore." He could not help the sadness from seeping out. He used to be one of the most feared fighters in Westeros. "Is the trust of a fifteen year old girl in him is enough to assure you of her safety with a man of the Hound's reputation?"

"Going against her on this will not advance my aims of protecting her, and if Clegane truly means to protect her—he is one of the finest fighters in Westeros."

Jaime paused, thinking on fierceness of his expression when he felt Jaime might be a threat or source of danger to Sansa. The way she had called him off with a few small words and the touch of her hand. He could not ever remember Clegane jumping to obey at such soft words. However, neither Joffrey nor Cersei had ever been ones for soft words. Neither one of them had ever been very kind to Clegane either. They treated him like the dog he claimed to be.

"I meant what I said, Ser." Brienne looked him over. Her large, blue eyes werere quite striking.

Jaime looked her over. She did not understand at all.

He remembered when he could defeat any man in the realm with sword or lance. Now, he had no way to hold a lance. He would never enter the lists for jousting again. He won his first tourney when he was thirteen and joined the Kingsguard at he wanted was to be able to fight his own fights. He had never had to depend on someone to fight for him. He never wanted someone to fight his fights. The only hope in him was to be able to learn left handed sword skills.

"I am sorry for lying to you. It wasn't what I wanted. I would have had to kill you had you refused to come. You have done everything you could to fulfill the oath, no matter what anyone thinks. You were not a part of all the broken promises that your brother made." She spoke the words haltingly as if she was holding back more than she was saying. It reminded him a little of how she kept trying to avoid looking at the rest of his body when they bathed together. She pretended not to notice but kept sneaking looks.

"Nice to know you remember that," Jaime said, sighing. She made her oath and was fulfilling it. "I can't be a prisoner again."

Brienne shifted.

"I am sure Lady Sansa will not keep you long."

"What makes you think that?" Jaime asked, wondering why the girl would dare to trust a Lannister. She probably trusted Joffrey, and his firstborn handed his betrothed the head of her father.

"You are the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. You will eventually be missed and sought after. Lady Sansa does not want to be found, particularly by anyone who would happily deliver her to the queen. Keeping you is like waving a large lion sigil and shouting here is a Lannister."

"True," Jaime said. He leaned back on the bed. Which evil would Sansa risk? Letting him go, keeping him, or killing him.

"Why don't you take a rest? I'm sure that you could not have had much rest last night."

"You get used to it." He relaxed back on the bed with a deep sigh and closed his eyes.

Not killing him seemed sensible only if she kept him her hostage. How could she trust him not to give away everything? He could leave her and return with an army to kill her—it would not be a stretch to believe a Lannister would betray her after what he knew of what she had been through at the hands of his sister. Lady Sansa had no reason to trust Lannisters, and she had every reason to kill him for spite after what he had done to her brother and what the Lannisters had done to her and her family. If she had been raised by his father, she would kill him. But she had been raised by Lord Eddard Stark, the honorable.

Killing Jaime would draw a great deal of attention, attention she was keen to avoid. She might dump his body in a river and it would never be discovered, but it would still instigate a search. A search that could find her. However, what she might not know was that his sister was being held for crimes by the High Septon. He would not volunteer the information to her. If his uncle had come and taken the position of Hand of the King, he may or may not send someone to search him out.

This was too complicated to try to puzzle out, knowing as little of Sansa as he did. All he knew of Sansa was what she was like before the winter of her family. She was perhaps the only Stark still alive. How could she not be different after watching her father beheaded, and married into the family that had allowed it? He thought on the girl, wondering which of them was suffering more.

Jaime was leaning back on the bed with his eyes mostly closed when there was a loud knock at the door. He cracked one eye open as the the door banged open.

"Lady Sansa wants you to come guard her. I'm to guard the Kingslayer tonight."

"I hope I won't see a scene between you two again."

"Bugger off. If anything happens to Sansa, twice over will happen to your precious Kingslayer."

Jaime sat up and looked them over.

"I don't need you to fight my fights."

Clegane got a nasty smile on his face as he looked over at Jaime.

"Yes, you do need her to fight your fights, Kingslayer."

Brienne looked between the pair before leaving though not without frowning at Clegane. She shut the door quietly.

Jaime looked up at the Hound. It seemed the dog was enjoying his new toy.

Sandor looked him over with the same nasty smile.

"I believe Lady Sansa said she hopes I do not have more accidents," he said, wondering if that statement alone would be enough to protect him.

"So she did," Clegane said. His nasty smile faded, and he looked over Jaime thoroughly. "Why did you lie?"

Jaime shrugged. In truth, it was complicated. There were a number of reasons why he lied. It did not really matter in the long run.

"I think I will sleep, Clegane. Have fun guarding a cripple from children." He leaned back on the bed and drew the blanket over himself, drifting off to thoughts of what may be in store for him.


	36. Brienne V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have need to speak with Lady Stoneheart."

"Come in, Lady Brienne."

Brienne felt a moment of hesitation. Had Sansa sent Clegane to give Jaime more of what happened earlier? She shut the door softly. It would only be natural for her to want to punish a Lannister if she had been beaten as often as it seemed and by the Kingsguard. A surge of anger moved through her as she imagined teaching those false knights a lesson they would never forget. They should never have been members of the Kingsguard.

Sansa moved her fingers carefully through her hair, undoing her braids. The firelight caught her hair, making it glow and shine as she slowly began working tangles from her hair.

"There is something that I need to tell you about the current situation," Sansa said, looking up at the large woman. Her Tully eyes and hair reminded Brienne strongly of Lady Catelyn. She could not help wondering which words rang true for Sansa, 'Winter is Coming.' or 'Family. Duty. Honor.'

Had Sansa sent for her to consult with her about what was to happen? How could she convince Sansa that she was on her side? It was only natural after what the poor young girl had been through. Why would she want to trust someone she just met? She had made herself so clear about Clegane earlier. Going against Clegane would get her nowhere.

Brienne forced the thoughts away for the moment, meeting the blue Tully eyes, "What is it, Lady Sansa?"

She had to find some way of convincing the girl that she meant her no harm. It was critical that Sansa come to trust her, or she might fail in her mission to protect her. The thought of failing Jaime and Lady Catelyn by allowing any harm to come to Sansa was unbearable. She had to act with honor and be strong.

"I have a safe location that I am being taken to for the remainder of winter. I have no intention of leaving these children here to starve. It is my intention to take any child that wishes to accompany me."

"You are kind and generous, my Lady."

Brienne felt a lightness at hearing this. These were the words of the lady girl about whom Lady Catelyn had so often spoken. This was a lady she could speak to about the treatment of Jaime. Surely, this girl had not asked that Ser Jaime be beaten. This was a girl who would tell her dog not to hurt her prisoner.

Sansa met her eyes. She was still working the knots from her red hair.

"What are your intentions, Lady Brienne?"

Her intentions? She had been perfectly clear about them, but she would say it again. Sansa had lived in a world of lies and betrayal.

"I intend to stay and protect you. I gave my word to return you to your mother. I have failed in that, but if you will allow, I would stay by your side till I have returned you to Winterfell and know that you are safe. If you would require me further, I am happy to do as you command."

Sansa pursed her lips. She seemed to be considering a vast number of things before she spoke again.

"There are many orphans here. I trust you will help see them all to our winter accommodations. Can I trust you to any task?"

"Of course, I offer my sword to you, my Lady. I will follow your commands as best I am able."

Sansa was silent for a moment and looked her over. She pressed her lips together, taking a deep breath as though to steady her nerves.

"Do you expect Lady Stoneheart to return soon? I need to speak with my—my mother."

Brienne jerked a little. She had no answers about Lady Stoneheart's movements or intentions. Why would she want to speak with her mother, if Lady Stoneheart could even still be considered so much as a shadow of Lady Catelyn?

"Ser Harwin or Ser Gendry or one of the other members of the Brotherhood would know more of that than I. I only became aware of your mother's present state in the last moon turn."

Sansa shifted. Her voice was soft as she sat quietly in the only chair in the room. A long dark cloak was hung over it that pooled on the floor. She traced her delicate fingers along the fabric. She adjusted it briefly, so it flared in a large, partial circle around the back and sides of the chair without any wrinkle in it.

"And how is it that you came to me with the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard? I have not heard that story, yet."

"We learned that you had been taken captive by Sandor Clegane, and your mother sent me to fetch Ser Jaime, with orders that if he failed to come to your rescue that I was to kill him. Ser Jaime sent word to Stokeworth Castle, and Lord Bronn said he might be able to make introductions. We did not know at the time that the Hound was your man."

Sansa was quiet, and her countenance stiffened. The fabric of her dress bunched in her hands as her face paled slightly.

"Don't call him that."

"M—"

"He is the Captain of my Guard. He is my only fully trusted companion. You may address him as Captain, not as Hound."

"Please, my Lady—I meant no offense, and I wanted to speak about—" Brienne began again. She had to convince Sansa not to order the death of Ser Jaime, even if he was entirely insufferable. She might have messed up her chance by calling Clegane by his old name, a name he had earned through his ferocity in battle.

"I have heard your defense of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. I have no intention of killing him," Sansa cut her off. She lifted her chin meeting Brienne's eyes. "Ser Jaime Lannister is not going to die by my hand or by the hand of any of my men."

"He has already been attacked by one of your men." Brienne looked over at her with her face drawn into a taut, serious set.

"And I instructed that it not happen again." Sansa said, beginning a careful braid to help prevent tangles while she slept. "Whatever accident happened, it was not with my sanction, and it will not happen again. Sandor protects and obeys me, and he may have believed he was acting in my best interests."

Brienne wished to say more. The man sounded more like a hound than a captain to her, but it was not an argument she could win with Sansa right now. How could the girl believe that the gargantuan man would understand that he was not to touch Jaime? Jaime had lied. He said that he had an accident that resulted in his injuries. What happened to Jaime was no accident. He could have been killed easily.

Sansa was looking her over. Her blue eyes were bright and slightly suspicious, but she did not say whatever she had seemed of a mind to say.

There was a soft knock on the door a few moments later.

"Come in." Sansa stood as the door opened.

"My Lady." Willow bowed her head softly. She went to the table and replaced the empty flagon with a fresh one.

"There is no need for that." Sansa moved forward and touched the older, though slightly shorter, girl's shoulders. "I was hoping you might fetch Gendry for me."

"I will send him up." Willow said, looking up into Sansa's eyes.

"Thank you, Willow."

The older girl moved quickly from the room.

"Why do you need Gendry?" Brienne asked, looking at her as she eased herself down in the chair again, stroking her fingers over the fabric of the large cloak.

"I wish to discuss the current plans with Willow, him, and you. Sandor is already aware."

"What about Jaime?" Brienne asked, before her mind could stop her mouth.

Sansa's voice was chilly as a northern breeze as she replied.

"He is my goodbrother, and my captive of sorts. I do not discuss plans with captives."

Brienne shifted. He was her goodbrother, but he would also likely enjoy being in on the discussion. Jaime did not even know her. Jaime was risking a great deal to protect her. Did she even care about his risks?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Come in."

Gendry entered with Willow at his side.

"My Lady," Gendry moved and took a knee before her.

"That is unnecessary, Ser." Sansa spoke softly and clearly, though a small smile touched her lips as he remained on a knee. "I called you here for a discussion with me about the near future."

"I will offer you anything, my Lady," Gendry said, keeping his head bowed.

"There is much to discuss, Ser. Some of it can wait until we are settled in our winter home."

"Winter home?" Gendry's eyes betrayed his surprise.

"Yes, I do not plan to stay in this inn for the winter. It is not safe enough. I intend to continue on my journey to its final destination."

"What is our destination, my Lady?"

"This remains in this room." She looked around at each of the others, giving them a hard look.

"Yes, my Lady," he said.

Brienne nodded her head to show that she understood.

"Gendry, it is your intention to come with me?" Sansa asked. She reached a hand out and touched his shoulder.

"Yes, my Lady, it is." He had a stubborn set to his eyes. "I am your man from the time I was in Stokeworth to my last breath."

"Gendry, we need you here," Willow burst out. Her eyes had widened and turned on Sansa with a fearful look. "Please, my Lady, we need Gendry."

Brienne shifted. It was only understandable. Gendry was a large and strong boy, practically a man grown. He was a smith. He was the most physically powerful boy here. He had surely protected them in the past. He saved Brienne from Biter.

"Willow, how many orphans are here?" Sansa asked, cutting the girl off as she paused to take a breath.

"Dozens and dozens, my Lady, and Gendry is the only big boy we have. We need him."

"As do I," Sansa said, and her voice was soft and gentle. She began again just as Willow opened her mouth to speak, cutting her off. "And I have no intention of leaving you without options."

The older girl was quiet.

What would Willow think of this plan? Brienne kept her eyes locked on them.

"This is a lovely inn, and I am sure you have done your best. Winter is here, and I have my doubts that an inn on such an oft traveled road is safe. I have seen your food stores, and they are depleted. My father, the Lord of Winterfell, always said that a long summer means a longer winter. This is no place to survive the winter. Your money is low. Supply wagons are fewer. The woods are no longer providing as much food. I want you and all the children to come with me to where I am going. There is no way to know what we will find there. But I believe that it will be better than this place. I will take any of the orphans that wish to come with me."

Her countenance was strong as she spoke. She kept her back stiff, her words formal, and her tone ready for no argument.

"My Lady."

"Winter is never easy, but together we stand a better chance. Gendry has sworn himself to me. He is coming with me whatever your decision is. I am certain that I need him and that he is safer with me than here. I can see that you have worked together to make this place all that it can be in winter. It will be work where we are going as well, but it may mean the difference between survival and death."

Sansa remained in her seat, the only chair in the room, the position of authority. She looked every bit the perfect lady.

Willow's mouth had dropped even farther.

"How will we be safe for travel?"

"That is a concern for myself, the Captain of my guard, Gendry, and Lady Brienne. But as I recall, I have been greeted here by children with crossbows and more."

Willow nodded.

"No child will be taken against their will," Sansa said, standing up slowly. "But I would wish for all to join me. We need each other in winter."

"I will inform the children of your offer, Lady Sansa."

Sansa nodded and resumed her chair.

Gendry rose to his feet to follow Willow out the door.

"Gendry, I have more to discuss with you."

Gendry bowed his head to her briefly.

"What can I do for you?"

"I have need to speak with Lady Stoneheart. It is a matter of deepest importance. Do you know when she will be here?"

"She is here, now, my Lady." Gendry said softly. "She arrived an hour or so ago with the rest of the Brotherhood."

Sansa trembled softly for a moment. She took a deep breath and stiffened her back in resolve.

"Do you know her intentions, Ser?"

"I think she just wants to see you, my Lady. You are one of only two living children she has left, and the only one she has been reunited with."

"Will you bring her up, Ser?"

Gendry bowed his head and left the room.


	37. Sansa XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He crippled your brother. Did he tell you that?"

Sansa felt a shiver in her body as she imagined that she heard footsteps moving up the stairs, footsteps of a creature, neither dead nor truly alive. It was like one of Old Nan's stories brought to life, one of the scary ones that her brothers had always loved but that she had not been able to stomach. She reached back and pulled Sandor's cloak up over her shoulders. His cloak had protected her more than once. She felt safer with it draping her shoulders.

"Lady Brienne, send Sandor to me at once."

Brienne left the room after giving a brief bow.

It was time to be a player, not a piece. There was no time to be afraid. Petyr had said he would make her a player but always treated her like a piece. He needed to learn a lesson, a painful lesson that would end with his life. He did not know that the north remembers.

Thump. Thump.

Heavy footsteps that could not be mistaken were coming down the hall. The door was pushed open without a knock, and Sandor came in stiffly.

She rose to her feet. He was her man. She wondered when that happened, when he decided to serve her. She could not help remembering his confessing words to Elder Brother, words she had not been meant to hear. He said he had faced his brother because he had heard her ask her father to allow no harm to come to Loras from the Mountain.

A rush of warmth filled her at the sight he made. He stood straight and looked right into her face, though his eyes did not seem to be meeting hers. Her eyes caught on the sword he wore. Oathkeeper Brienne had called it. Hopefully, Gendry would be up to the task when the time was right.

"You called for me, Li—ady Sansa."

Sansa felt a twinge of disappointment as she rose to her feet. Why had he stopped himself from saying Little Bird? It was different if there were others around, people who would not understand their relationship. Showing such familiarity to a woman he was in service to would be inappropriate. It could lead to the wrong conclusions and grief among the people that she was supposed to rule. But if they were in private, she enjoyed it and it could not hurt anyone.

"Yes, I wanted you with me. I am going to meet with Lady Stoneheart."

Sandor nodded and moved to his place behind her. He stood with his hands crossed in front of him and stared at the door.

Sansa tucked the ends of his cloak around her as she had with his Kingsguard cloak that night that seemed so long ago now. Glancing up at him, she saw his hand rested on the hilt of the sword. She briefly wondered what he would look like seated in her father's chair. Another statement Petyr had made rose in her mind about 'low born cheeks.' Would the North accept anyone without Stark blood sitting that seat? She would have to marry him to give him the chair.

She looked down as her mind began to race. It was foolishness to wonder about such outcomes when he ran off every time they kissed. Was she not pleasing to kiss? She had not kissed him the way that Petyr had most liked her to kiss. It made her shudder to think of it, kissing the man who had put a dagger to her father's throat. Had Petyr been planning how to take her when he did that? She shoved aside thoughts of the Lord of Lies. Would Sandor like those kinds of kisses more than her others? He was a man grown. Would it be nice to share such kisses with Sandor?

The kiss she remembered with her Captain had been searing and hard, the same as his body had been when he held her. It was impossible to remain clueless to the differences between their bodies when he held her as he had. He was so large and strong. All the times they spent sharing his mount during the time since they were reunited had only reinforced the memories of his physical power. She had seen very few men who could approach him in size and strength. She had one of the most powerful protectors in the seven kingdoms.

She shifted. If she was not expecting her mother, she would give Sandor the chair and sit at his feet. They would be able to talk over everything the coming weeks would bring.

"I made my offer to Willow, and she said that she would tell the other children of it. I am certain some of them will join us."

It would be better this way. At least, she would have some companions beyond Sandor. She did not have to trust them at all. It had been so long since she had companions that were not in the employ of someone else. She wondered if these children would be loyal to her.

"Sandor, I want you to stay with me the rest of the night. I feel safer with you here close to me." She wondered if she should promise not to kiss him. Would it be better to pretend the kiss had not happened or to say something about it?

He did not respond more than a grunt.

She should apologize for kissing him. He was a man grown. He did not want to be subjected to kisses from a little girl. Her kisses upset him, maybe even angered him with the reminder of the night of Blackwater. He did not enjoy kissing her, and why would he? She forced back the tears. It would be better to find a different time to think about this. Her mother was coming for a meeting. All her wits would be required to make her ends happen. But if she did not say it, she might lose her composure in front of her mother.

"Sandor, it was not my intent—"

The door opened softly, and Sansa abruptly cut off from what she was saying. It was time to begin playing. She had to put it out of her mind. Distractions were unaffordable right now.

Gendry was with Lady Stoneheart. He followed one step behind to her left.

"With your permission, my Lady, I will translate." He took to one knee in front of her after placing down a chair for Lady Stoneheart.

Sansa nodded to him. He was one to keep close to her side. A blacksmith who was clearly close to whatever her mother had become. His love for her sister also seemed obvious. She wondered what Arya had thought of him.

"Mother," she asked, staring at the strange hooded and wrapped creature. "I wanted to see you."

The gurgling sound she now knew as her mother's voice came from Lady Stoneheart's mouth.

Sansa placed her hands in her lap after a quick glance at Sandor. It was strange how comforting just looking upon him had become. She hoped to always have it.

"I am glad you are well, Sansa."

Sansa paused a moment, thinking carefully over her words. She tried to hear the voice, the words of her mother coming from Gendry.

"How has this come to happen? I was told you were dead. I would know how you have returned to life, how you died. I have heard the tale of the return to life of Lord Beric Dondarrion from my most loyal protector." She would continue to reiterate how important Sandor was, just to be sure that the other woman understood that hurting Sandor would only hurt Sansa.

Sansa was quiet as she was told the story. She met the eyes of the woman, paying careful attention to every detail. Her plan and needs were clear in her mind. How she was going to accomplish them was less so. This story was giving her the information. It was giving her time to plan.

"Lord Dondarrion gave his life to restore your mother to hers."

"How many men are part of this Brotherhood?" She shifted. Her father had sent one hundred men to bring the Mountain to justice. How many were left of that number?

"There are a fair number. Some have been sent to acquire food. Some have left on other missions."

Sansa shifted as she heard Sandor growl softly. She looked up at him. His gray eyes were angry as he shifted slightly.

"Sandor?" What happened? During both her interviews with Jaime, and so much more, he had remained almost totally silent. It was unusual for him to make a noise when she was having an interview unless he thought her threatened.

"They are using my money to acquire their food, money they stole." Sandor shifted some. "Money I could have used."

Gendry shifted a little as if he wanted to say something. He glowered at Sandor.

Sansa stiffened. It would be best to let them share their grievances with each other, rather than keep them bottled up. Though, it would be nice if they could have left it for another time. Even though their last difference of opinion had led to Gendry being pushed down in the mud. She would not have more fighting between her men. They both had such great value.

"Any money of his that remains, I would have returned to him immediately. Gendry, do you have something to say?"

"He would have used the money to continue drinking. We have used the money to help the children, those who have suffered the most from this war between five kings." Gendry's blue eyes were bright as he spoke.

"And to pay a ransom, I believe. Who knows what all the money has been spent on or what it would have been spent on? I am not interested in speculation about how the money would have been spent, Ser. The money was stolen from my Captain. He earned it through his superior abilities at the Tourney of the Hand. You had no right to steal it from him. The remainder will be returned." Hopefully the stolen amount could be returned to Sandor through services rendered.

"What of the Kingslayer? Will you punish him for his crimes?" Lady Stoneheart was sitting stiffly in the chair.

Her mother's feelings toward Jaime Lannister were obvious. She was so blinded by hatred because of some smart remark the Lord Commander had purportedly said. Well, no matter how angry she was, Jaime Lannister was not going to be hung. He still had uses.

"Father always said that family was important and that family has to work together to survive the winter. Ser Jaime Lannister is my goodbrother. I may not have chosen him for my brother. I may not have wanted him for a goodbrother. But my brother he is."

She did not even think of him as her brother in truth, but it did not matter what her real thoughts and feelings were. What mattered was making it clear that Ser Jaime could serve her in ways that no one else could. She hoped he would honor the unofficial words of his family. The fact that he was here showed a certain amount of honor to his words. If half of what he had said about what the Mad King had done was true—he was an interesting man.

She felt the hardness of the Starks in her for the first time as she spoke her next words, knowing she could allow no argument to sway her. Jaime was valuable.

"The words of my mother's family, the Tullys of Riverrun are 'Family. Duty. Honor.' I believe in these words every bit as much as I believe my father's words. Ser Jaime is my family now."

The half dead-half alive creature almost howled in rage. The woman was on her feet pacing furiously.

"He crippled your brother. Did he tell you that?"

A chill went through Sansa that shot straight to her bones. She never suspected that Bran had been hurt by the Kingsguard. Apparently, the only Kingsguard to never strike her had harmed Bran. But Bran was dead, and it was not by Jaime's hand.

"What are you talking about?"

"Brandon, your little brother who loved to climb, who desired nothing more than to be a member of the Kingsguard, was pushed from the window by that monster."

Sansa took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She steeled herself. She loved Bran, and when she had her sons, she would definitely have a Bran. She could work around the moves that had already been made. She needed Jaime, no matter what he had done to Bran.

"Bran is dead. Theon Greyjoy is a turncloak traitor. He killed my little brothers." Sansa kept her voice calm and even. She only had one brother left, albeit a half-brother, but he was a brother. "Lord Fray killed Robb. Joffrey killed Father."

She would not punish someone for crimes committed against someone who was dead, so long as they had not killed him. Jaime was her one chance. It was a slim chance, but without him, her chances were none.

"Your brother—"

"My only living brother is at the Wall, and he can never leave. You cared for him as much as I did. You would not let him stay in Winterfell after Father left. He had nowhere else to go. I was foolish then. Bran is dead. Lord Commander Jaime is not responsible for that."

Sansa fought not to yell. She could not help wondering if Jon had been allowed to stay in Winterfell, if he would have been able to save Bran and Rickon. Jon loved Bran. They were often together. Jon would have protected them, kept them safe. Jon might have ridden south to save father. Jon would surely have not trusted Lord Fray. She shoved the thoughts away. It was a waste to wonder over what might have been. Right now, it matted to look forward to what could be not back at what had not been.

"The Lannister oathbreaker should be punished."

"He has lost his sword hand. He has suffered for his crimes." Jaime Lannister's sword was talked of as being one of the finest in all the seven kingdoms. That was lost to him, something that had defined him. It would have been kinder to kill him.

"He should die."

Sansa felt that same chill, the terrifying sensation of when her boot was lost out the moon door while her aunt tried to push her made her breath come a little faster. Her mother would not call for death so easily. Her mother had been merciful and kind.

"No, I need him alive."

"Lannisters are nothing but liars. They repay trust with treachery."

"He is the only person who can do what I need done."

Sansa shifted, thinking on the words of her family. 'Family. Duty. Honor.' 'Winter is Coming.' Unwittingly, the words of the Lannisters charged through her mind. 'Hear me Roar.' He was her best chance for accomplishing her ends. She needed her mother to hear her.

"He is my family. I have a duty to him as he has to me." She felt silly saying it, especially when she considered all the Lannisters had done to her. But Jaime was crucial to her plans.

The urge to yell at her mother for the part she had played in causing the fight to break out was great. If Tyrion had just been left alone, Jaime would not have attacked Father. Lord Tywin would not have sent the Mountain to pillage the Riverlands. She shifted. It did no good to dwell on what might have been. Her mother had taken Tyrion. Lord Tywin retaliated and won, something he had been known for since the Reynes and Tarbecks defied him. What was done was done and could not be undone bby any amount of wishful thinking. All that could be done was to look forward.

"Mother, I need something of you." Sansa paused, watching Lady Stoneheart for signs of her receptiveness.

The woman resumed her seat and looked Sansa over carefully.

"You have only to ask, Sansa."

Sansa shifted forward in her seat slightly, staring at the covered face.

"I need the outlaws. I would have them stop their activities for the time."

Lady Stoneheart was stiff and rose to her feet.

"I want to take all these children to safety with me. Sandor can not possibly be our only protector. I need Gendry to come with me. He has sworn to serve me and stay by my side."

"Who will help kill the Frays for their crimes? They should all die."

Sansa took a deep breath. She did want the Frays punished. What they had done was beyond despicable. They had taken their liege lord captive and broken guest right.

"Mother, I want to take over these matters. I need these men with me. I need protection for the children on the road. I need Jaime Lannister alive to bring justice."

Anyone searching for Jaime Lannister would provide nothing but trouble for Sansa and her party. She had enough people out looking for her now as it was. If the country was to be filled with more people searching for her, she would not do anything to contribute to a more concerted effort. It would be best to send some sort of message giving false whereabouts to King's Landing.

Lady Stoneheart looked down at her.

"Why? Tell me why."

"I believe that with the help of the Lord Commander I can bring to justice one of the driving forces behind Father's death."

Lady Stoneheart rose frightfully. A woman so centered on vegeance for her family and protecting what was left of it would find this a worthy reason.

"Why do you believe he will help you?"

"I spared his life. A Lannister always pays their debts." Sansa bit back telling her the real reason. Petyr Baelish had admitted to her his role in the strife of the Lannisters. A man with Jaime's temper might do something rash.

"What about what Lord Bolton said to your brother before he killed him?" The wisp of her mother was almost howling with rage again. She was like a wild animal—frightening and bloodthirsty.

Sansa shifted, remembering Brienne's tale of Jaime meeting Lord Bolton. Her first thought when she saw him was that he was some monster. Regardless, a man's words were no reason to condemn him. Only his actions should be punished. Words were wind. Ser Jaime was clearly a man who spoke first and thought later. That much was clear after only two conversations with him. His brother was the same. She shifted a little.

"Lord Bolton will pay for his crimes. But is there any way to conclusively prove that Ser Jaime said those words you heard from Lord Bolton? He may have fabricated it. A man who would kill his king would do anything."

"And if he didn't?"

"They were just words. Lord Bolton will be punished for his oath breaking and for killing Robb."

Sansa shivered a little, remembering the one time that she had met Lord Roose Bolton. He was a frightening man, with his pale eyes and too soft voice. She had hidden behind her father's legs. She would eliminate all Boltons.

She would work toward justice for all the treachery her family had suffered. Some had been dealt with and some had not. If a long summer meant a longer winter, there was plenty of time to plan what she would do with Lord Baelish and Lord Bolton and the Frays.

As satisfying as the thoughts were, she wondered if she would be able to carry through with them all. Despite everything Petyr had done, he had still saved her life. His reasons were not honorable, but he still saved her from the queen. Did his reasons invalidate his actions? There was no time to think of this. She needed to focus on collecting whatever small or large number of men that her mother commanded. The thought of what happened to her father's men rippled across her brain then, and then her father. Tyrion had ordered his bones returned, but they had been sent to Riverrun.

"Mother, what happened to Father's bones? Do you know? I know that they were sent back to you, but did they get home? I know father would want to be home in Winterfell with Uncle Brandon and Aunt Lyanna and Grandfather."

Lady Stoneheart had a hardness to her as she looked over at Sansa.

Sansa lifted the handkerchief that was resting in her lap. Her fingers dug into the fabric she had so long kept close to herself. She covered her mouth with it and shook a little.

"I watched Father die. Joffrey made me look at his head when he put it on a spike. Father's bones were sent to you. Are they home?"

She pressed the handkerchief that had wiped her blood that first day she had been punished by the Kingsguard to her lips. Turning slightly toward Sandor, she stifled a sob. She had once been down in the crypts where the kings of winter were. Her father would want to be there. He had been a Lord of Winterfell. She would have to find a stonemason, if there were any left anywhere, who knew her father's likeness well. He ought to have a statue. Thinking of her final words to him brought tears to her eyes.

"Please, Mother. Can you do this? Make sure that father gets home. I hate the two of you not being together. I hate thinking of him not being in Winterfell."

Her mother was worse than dead. Maybe if she could help her father get home to Winterfell—maybe it would all be okay. Maybe it would help this creature. It would at least relax searches in the area she had to travel through.

"Please, I need these men for safety. Their current actions will not help me keep safe. They can help me and these orphans. I will sleep better once I know that Father is home."

Lady Stoneheart said nothing as she moved about the room.

"The Frays have already begun to suffer for the crimes, and their suffering is far from done. I promise you that, Mother. But for now, I need the Brotherhood to help me to safety. If my father is safe in Winterfell where he belongs, so much will be better. I want to know that you are with him, making sure that things are the way he would want. You knew father better than anyone."

Sansa shifted, remembering her father's words she overheard once to her brother Robb, 'A Stark must always be in Winterfell.' Well, that was not possible right now. The castle was in ruins. She had no gifted builders to help her rebuild the holdfast. Winter had set in. There was no way to repair the castle right now. There was probably no food or anything else in the castle.

Lady Stoneheart looked her over.

"I will go for you, Sansa. But as soon as your father is safe in Winterfell, I will continue avenging your brother."

Sansa paused a moment. Lady Stoneheart would need help with what she was doing.

"I think you should take Harwin with you. He knows the North. He can translate for you." She knew that she could use Harwin. Harwin knew more of horses than any man she knew, but it was necessary to leave her mother with helpers. After the crimes her mother had been subjected to at the hands of the Frays and Boltons, she had the right to seek her vengeance. It was an argument she would lose, but if it was in the north, with any luck, the crown would let it be a problem for the Northern lords.

Sansa shifted. She could use someone who knew horses the way Harwin did, but her mother was set on vengeance, and taking on the Boltons would not be easy.

"I know we shall see each other after winter has passed."

Lady Stoneheart nodded to her.

"And when we do, if it is the will of the gods, old and new, I will have found my sister. If anyone could survive what she has been through, it is her. Arya is strong."

"Before I leave, I would see you off in the morning and fetch all the men I will send with you."

Sansa nodded, standing as her mother moved to the door.

"Good night, Mother."

Sandor moved and shut the door behind Lady Stoneheart and her translator, Gendry.

Sansa slumped over in the chair. She wondered briefly if Jaime would be safe in the room where he was or if her mother would harm him. So much depended on keeping him alive and healthy.

He moved swiftly to her, taking a knee heavily in front of her.

"My Lady?" He did not look into her eyes as he addressed her. His eyes were searching her face.

She bit her lip a moment before answering. It was disconcerting for him to not address her by the nickname he gave her. She could remember very few instances in King's Landing when he used her name. Even when he returned her to the Red Keep after the riot, he had called her little bird in front of all those people—including the hand of the king at that time.

"It's fine."

Sandor rose to his feet, looking down at her. His eyes crossed a little and darkened even as he took a step back. Sansa clutched the fabric tighter around herself.

"Piss on that, Little Bird. What's wrong?"

She looked up and smiled softly, though the tears remained. Her eyes traced the way his hair fell across his face before moving to his eyes. He called her Little Bird again. She pondered for a moment telling how she had missed the nickname, but dismissed it. It was not something to say at this moment.

"That woman who used to be my mother. My mother used to always ask my father for mercy when he had to put someone to death. And now—" Sansa trailed off. Her smile faded as she stood. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Watching someone kill those you love and who loved you will do that to some people."

Sansa shifted a bit, wondering at him again. She had heard rumors about his family while in the Red Keep, stories so horrible that she had believed them to be just rumors, even knowing what Gregor had done from his brother's lips. What else could that monstrous man have done that was true? She did not dare inquire. Sandor had the tendency to share stories on a whim without being questioned. He had threatened her if she ever spoke of the story of his burns.

"Yet you stopped me from killing Joffrey."

Sandor shifted as she pressed the simple horn cup into his hand.

"I did."

He downed the cup of very watered wine. A moment of foreboding tingled in her. She did not wish him to take up his old drinking habits. He was terrifying as a drunk.

Sansa was quiet. She tucked her knees up close.

"Are you the same little girl who went to King's Landing a few years ago?" Sandor asked, setting the cup down and not even looking at the flagon.

Sansa shook her head. Sandor had changed too. She could not believe, when she looked into his eyes, that he was the same man who so frightened her when she first met him. It would be a comfort to have his arms to hold her whenever she needed.

Sandor shifted.

"Sandor, where is your castle? You said it was close to Casterly Rock."

She tucked her legs up, completely wrapping his cloak around her body. It was almost as though she was using it as a cloak of protection. The thought gave her comfort, though she knew that it was a match that could not be approved. There would be ways around it once she returned to Winterfell and put down the Boltons.

"It is in the hills between Casterly Rock and High Garden. It is relatively inaccessible, and the attendant lands are good, quite fertile. There should be plenty of food and money for more for the whole of the winter."

Sansa remembered the story of how his family became nobility. Apparently, Lord Tywin's father considered the saving of his life to be worth a great deal. Lord Tywin might not reward a man so handsomely as his father had.

"How long do you think it will take to reach?"

"Impossible to say. Perhaps as much as a moon's turn with the increased size of the party."

Sandor stood with his back to the door, gazing at a place on the wall behind her.

"Try to sleep, Little Bird."

"Sandor, I wanted to speak with you." Sansa tried. She owed him an apology for her pitiful kisses. He did not enjoy them any more than any man would enjoy a kiss. She had felt his arousal, but he was a man. It might be simply a natural response to any kiss, whether he enjoyed it or not. She ought not to have done it, despite the fact that he had kissed her in the past. He had given ample reason to believe that a kiss would be agreeable and pleasurable. She should have kissed him differently.

"It will be a long journey with little and less pleasant places to sleep, Little Bird. You should sleep now."

Sansa bit her lip and stood. She kept his cloak tucked around her shoulders as she curled up in the middle of the bed. It would do no good to continue trying to talk to him. When he determined that it was time for her to sleep, he would not speak anymore to her. Rolling up in the cloak slightly, she settled into the bed to enjoy a night of sleep and peace that might be her last for a good while.


	38. Sandor XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Lady Stoneheart would have words with you."

Sandor paced restlessly around the wagons, making sure that everything was secure.

He spent the night without much sleep. It was to be expected, and he did not know if sleep would come any easier until Sansa was safe behind Winterfell's restored walls. The little bird became cold in the night, though he kept the fire stoked well, she did not stop shivering until he slid in next to her. Instantaneously, she curled into his side, resting her cheek on his chest.

He shook his head. Time to push such thoughts away. He did not need to think about how nice it had been when she woke next to him, squeezing him tighter for a moment. She smiled up at him before withdrawing.

Sansa was inside the inn still, meeting with Ser Bronn and the children and probably Lady Stoneheart while Lady Brienne stood guard over her and the Kingslayer.

Somehow the little bird had convinced Lord Sellsword to allow her the use of his horses. Whether she had bartered, bought the horses, or just intended to keep him a captive as well—Sandor could not say.

He ought to be at her side, but he was now in charge of getting fifty children and his little bird safely to Clegane Keep. If he had been a praying man, he would have prayed for their safety.

He would be driving the lead wagon of the train with Sansa seated next to him. The big boy, Gendry, would be driving the last wagon. The boy had been unhappy about the arrangements, but life was full of disappointments. Many of the older children would be walking or riding on the horses not hitched to the wagons.

"Hound."

Turning, he saw Lady Catelyn standing with the northmen.

"What do you want?" he asked. Couldn't they see that he was busy preparing to take Lady Sansa to safety? He did not have time for any shit they had.

"Lady Stoneheart would have words with you."

Sandor bit back a snarl. Why were they wasting his time with talk?

"I remember you."

"I have one of those faces." Sandor snarled, checking the last wagon to be sure that everything was secure.

"I know how you look at Sansa."

Sandor rolled his eyes. Where was this going? He knew his place, but everyone from the little hellion who brought Sansa's bathwater to her nearly departed half dead mother were dying to remind him.

"I know you want her, Dog."

"She is a married woman," Sandor said, placing a hand on his sword. "And she is not married to me." If she was, he would have claimed her and kept her close to him. He would not tolerate anyone saying that she was not his woman.

"See that you remember that."

Sandor rolled his eyes as he turned his back to them. Why did they feel the need to kick a dog?

"Look, Lady, I know my place." He fought the desire to snarl at her that a dog and a wolf go together better than a fish and wolf. "She is my mistress, not my mate. I know your message." He had heard the message all his life. No lady wanted a man as ugly as he. Only a whore was suitable for him—and only when he had money for her services.

He ought to guard himself more carefully when it came to Sansa. If his feelings were obvious, he shifted. Any man would want a creature as pretty as Sansa curled in his bed and snuggled into his side. Any man would be happy to have her kisses, and he had been given kisses. She was so lovely that he was obviously a monster polluting her.

"Why do you serve her?"

Sandor adjusted the straps on the horses that would be pulling the wagons. He served her because she was the first person to be kind to him that he could really remember in a long time. At first her kindness had seemed only a lie, but it became clear that she meant those words the more they spoke—the more addicted he became to her sweetness.

She never snapped or became angry, even when he was nasty to her. The closest she had ever come was when she had almost gone to tears and asked him why he was so nasty. Her words had stung, but not as much as her not coming to him right after had. He saved her life. She had to have been frightened after seeing a man get his arm chopped off, but she had seen Joffrey dispense justice, so it should not have been as horrifying as that—it had been in her defense. She did not understand that it was for her.

"Any good dog protects his mistress with his life."

"Sandor, please don't call yourself a dog."

He looked up and saw Sansa standing on the porch of the inn with a thick blanket of black bear fur around her shoulders. She was radiant, standing there with a few snowflakes swirling around her. The light breeze blew through her hair. It was hanging mostly loose in a northern style, looking soft and shiny. She blinked softly as she moved to the edge of the porch.

"As you wish," he said, looking away from her as he offered her his hand.

She took it, and he helped her down the icy steps. Tucking his hand in between hers, she drew his arm close for a moment.

It would be easier if he could call himself a dog. It would help her understand. He was not her equal, but she never cared for the name he'd earned.

"We are ready to depart as soon as you desire, Lady Sansa."

He lifted his hood to hide his face and ignored the parting words being exchanged by Lady Sansa and her mother. Her mother disliked him, even when he was helping or had helped her daughters.

"Help?" a little girl said tugging on his cloak softly. She held her arms up indicating her need to be lifted into the back of a wagon.

Sandor scooped her up with one hand and deposited her in the back of the middle wagon. She giggled and smiled at him. He moved quickly to the wagon at the head of the column. He heard the approaching footsteps and decided to ignore them, hoping the courtesy would be extended to him in turn.

"Sandor."

"By the seven," he cursed, turning on the man. He glowered fiercely for only a moment.

"I see you have found your temper," Elder Brother said, looking him over.

Sandor ignored him. His temper was necessary. It was being employed by a fine woman now. He ought to thank the man for saving his life, though he had asked Sansa's sister for the gift of mercy and been denied.

"Winter brings people together."

What was he blathering about? A relationship of necessity was what he and Sansa had. She needed him, now that the winter had come for her family.

Sansa had already determined to ride with him today, though it would be easier if she rode with someone else. He could not deny his pleasure at the knowledge that she asked for time with him and did not wish to be anywhere else in the train. She called the children 'their people.' She put him and herself on the same level, though they were far from the same station.

"Any woman would be lucky to have your cloak about her shoulders, Sandor."

He jerked as his eyes narrowed and a sneer decorated his features.

"No woman wants more than a—d—sworn shield protecting her or her whelp when it comes to me." Sandor glowered at the man. He made his choice. If he was doomed to spend his death burning equal amounts of time in each of the seven hells, Sansa was worth that. She was the reason he changed. She changed him.

Elder Brother smiled at him softly as if he understood something Sandor was not saying.

What sort of nonsense was that? Any woman and his cloak. He would not subject a woman to the yellow monstrosity. He appreciated what it represented, but it was also a symbol of his brother and all the horrors he had been unleashed by Tywin Lannister to do. He dashed a baby's brains out on a wall. He burned and raped the Riverlands. Sandor shook his head. He did not want to think about such things.

"You are too harsh with yourself. In any case, she is beautiful enough to make anyone more lovely and good simply by being close to him."

Sandor sneered at the straps binding the horses. She was beautiful, and the beautiful never enjoy the ugly—more than what they can utilize them for. They did not care for them.

"A dog may run with wolves."

Sandor glowered at him. Only an ugly fool would seek the adoration of a beautiful lady, but even an ugly fool could adore a lady. Even a dog could stay at her feet and accept whatever morsels and pats she offered.

He could not help himself from thinking on their kisses, and how she curled so sweetly and submissively at his feet. He belonged at her feet. He should not allow her to be on her knees in front of him. It was unsuitable as wonderful as it was.

"Did you have something meaningful to say?"

"I hope you will stop by the Quiet Isle before you take Lady Sansa north when spring comes. I shall be returning, though I believe Septon Meribald will be journeying with you."

So a septon was coming with them. Sansa would probably be pleased. There was a small sept at his family keep, or at least there had been. It might have been destroyed by Gregor and the company he kept.

"Elder Brother, I hope your trip back to the Quiet Isle will be pleasant." Sansa bobbed a soft curtsy and took Elder Brother's band for a moment.

"I wish you safety on your journey to safety as well, Lady Sansa."

"I am certain I am safe. I have Sandor to keep me safe." She released Elder Brother's hand and reached for Sandor's arm, tucking it close to her.

When she smiled at him, it nearly made him melt. He knew he was a great fighter. She knew the same. He would be sure that her confidence was not misplaced.

"And of course, Lady Brienne and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard will also see to my safety."

Sansa moved to stand beside the lead wagon, tugging him with her by the arm. She smiled up at him.

He stared down at her hands where they rested on his arm, directing him with their gentleness in a way that no one had ever commanded him before.

"Will you help me up to the wagon, Captain?"

Sandor took her waist and lifted her to the seat, keeping his hands on her till she was comfortably situated.

"Thank you." She cradled his hand softly for a moment after sliding her hands from his shoulders.

He hoped he was making a good choice for which direction to travel. With the company and voice of the Kingsguard, it should be safe to chance the journey that direction, and once past the barriers surrounding the monstrous castle, it would be mostly farmland that was now empty.

He adjusted the blanket she had wrapped herself in, tucking it around her carefully. It was so large around her small frame. All the children were similarly bundled in blankets that did not need their arms free.

Lady Stoneheart and her northman approached Sansa.

"I hope we will be together in Winterfell again soon. I will have Gendry forge a sword for Father's hands."

"Lord Eddard shall be at rest in his place, if it is the will of the gods, old and new."

Sansa nodded her head softly as Sandor climbed up to sit at her side. Two young boys mounted rode up on either side of the wagon, holding bows in their hands.

"I am ready to leave, Sandor."

He nodded, flicking the reins. The horses came to life and trotted forward smoothly following the lead of the two horses riding in front. The journey down the stretch of the King's Road would be the easy part. What followed when they left it would be the difficult stretch, but he would get Sansa to safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long. But I had a hard time finding the balance for it, and am still unsure if I like it. I hope to get the next chapter out to you more quickly.


	39. Gendry IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry looked away. He was not supposed to hear the words they were exchanging.

The wagons moved so slowly. Gendry groaned out his frustration. The journey with Yoren and Arya and all the others destined for the wall had been less horrendous than this, though Arya's company might have been what made it more tolerable. She had been good company and strong. The only upside of this trip was that he was not scrunched up on a donkey. Instead, he was directing the wagon at the rear of the group.

Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime had been relegated to being his companions, and she had been no more pleased by the arrangement than he.

He sighed as he spied Lady Sansa in the evening of their fifteenth day of travel. She was often at Clegane's side. As much as he wished that she would not be so attached to Clegane, he could understand after listening to the little girls and seeing them look at the large man and smile brightly and happily.

The story of how Clegane saved her in the King's Landing riot was a rapidly circulating one in the camp. In order to increase the comfort of some of the younger girls who had been slightly frightened of the burned man, Sansa had told them a story about how Clegane had saved her from being raped and most likely killed. Since hearing it, the youngest girls enjoyed repeating and embellishing the story. There were almost definitely elements of truth to the story about him saving her. It only made sense for her to trust a man who had saved her life as she had said.

The camp was a small hustle and bustle right now. He had a large armload of hardwood branches that he gathered for the night. He would be on his own with the children and Sansa for the next few days, and he wanted to be sure that they had plenty of wood to keep the fire going. The constant howls of the wolves at night made him nervous, and he wanted to be sure that he had fire to keep them at bay. A number of the brotherhood and Lady Brienne would be moving forward to ascertain the safety at the Keep they were going to for winter.

He needed to speak with her. He needed to confess his guilt about Arya. It was his fault in part. Lady Sansa should know. He had failed when he went to retrieve her. She should know the real reason that Arya was not here, why she and her sister had not been reunited back at the inn. He felt a surge of irritation as he remembered when they had been at the inn before the orphans had taken over. He made sure that pervert left her alone, and she treated him like he was stupid. She knew he was a bastard. Bastards had to learn things more quickly.

Gathering his courage, he walked toward her with the wood clutched a little more tightly in front of him.

"Milady," he called. "Milady."

"Ser Gendry, what need have you?" She moved a step toward him with a soft smile on her face.

He paused and placed the wood on the dry ground against the wall of the cave.

"I was hoping—I wanted—to talk with you, milady. About your sister." He did not look into her eyes as he spoke. He remembered his courtesies. He was not to look at highborn ladies. He was only a bastard apprentice smith. He had dumb ideas about being friends with Arya. Highborn girls did not love bastards.

"I would enjoy that very much, Ser, as soon as I have bid farewell to the portion of our party riding ahead to ascertain the safety of our soon to be home."

He glanced up at her in time to see her looking at Clegane. It seemed he might have interrupted something. Clegane was holding the reins of his enormous black courser.

"Boy, you remember the work we have been doing?"

Gendry bristled at this form of address but did not rise with anger. It would do him no good. It would only make things more difficult. He had to keep a cool head, and he had to protect all the children and Lady Sansa. Keeping her safe had to be more important than going off to knowingly get into a fight—even if the fight was to secure a safe place for her.

He nodded.

"I remember the lessons."

"Lady Brienne and I will be riding ahead to scout the Keep, my Lady, with the remainder of band of outlaws," Clegane said. "The boy will stay and defend you and the Lannister. I want to be sure the keep is cleared of all undesirables before you arrive. We should be back by the morning after tomorrow."

Sansa took a step closer to Clegane, looking up into his face. She rubbed her arms, plucking one of the ribbons from her sleeve.

"If you think that is best, Captain."

"I will return in no more than three days time, if we meet with no resistance, my Lady." He leaned down and whispered something in her ear.

She whispered something back to him before withdrawing to slightly more than a foot away.

"I shall keep watch for you," Sansa said. She took his hand, holding it close for a moment, brushing her thumbs over it. "We will be together soon, I pray."

The large man simply nodded his head, keeping the hand she had held clenched as he swung up on the large black war horse. The others accompanying him were already mounted and waiting quietly.

"Aye, my Lady."

She rested a hand on the sheath of the sword briefly. She stretched a hand up to pull him down.

Gendry looked away. He was not supposed to hear the words they were exchanging.

"I hope that there will not be need for us to be parted in the future."

He looked back over his shoulder at Sansa before spurring the horse to a canter. The others formed a tight group and took off through the wooded hills.

Sansa stood, watching and listening till the sound of the horse footfalls could no longer be heard.

"Milady." Gendry offered her a hand to help her back up the small embankment to the caves where they would be staying for the next few days. "Is there anything that I can get for you?"

"I am quite well satisfied for the moment. Thank you. You wished to speak about Arya."

He looked around at the rest of the children. Most were settled in small groups whispering to each other. Each greeted Sansa as they saw her to which she would smile and nod to them.

"Yes, I thought you should know—the truth."

Sansa straightened as he spoke, looking at him with her kind blue eyes.

"What truth is that, Ser?"

Gendry took a deep breath. It made no sense to keep delaying. A knight was a person of honesty and integrity. He owed her the whole truth about Arya. It was his fault that she had run off. It was his fault that he had been too slow to rescue her that night.

"It wasn't Clegane's fault. About Arya." Gendry shifted and poked a stick at the bottom of the flames. "Hot Pie and I abandoned her. I wanted to help the Brotherhood. They wanted to pursue justice for the wrongs being done by any group during the war, regardless of who did them. She wanted me to go and work for her brother."

Sansa reached over and touched his hand. She was too good to him, to everyone.

"What brought her into my captain's captivity was Arya's doing—not yours. No one could ever control Arya, but Arya. It's alright. We will find her. If anyone can survive, it is her. She is much stronger than I am."

Gendry shifted. All he wanted was to find her. Sansa was strong too, but it was not his place to contradict her. She had dealt with so much, had to have such goodness and strength of heart to be able to deal with Lady Stoneheart. If he met his mother brought back to life, he shuddered at the thought.

"Ser, when spring comes, I would ask you to seek her for me. But we have only a limited idea of where she might be. Until we have a better idea of where to begin looking, I need you with me. I have another task for you in the time being that I will share as soon as you might be able to act upon it."

They shared a moment of silence by the fire, listening only to the crackling of the wood and the sound of Willow and Jeyne hushing the children and putting them to bed.

"Awoooooo."

Gendry jerked, grabbing the spear that was leaning against the wall of the cave.

One of the youngest girls moved to Sansa with a whimper.

"They are close."

"Yes, and have been for a while. They won't hurt you children."

"The great pack of more than a hundred wolves, milady."

Sansa nodded and rubbed the little girl's shoulders before softly encouraging her to go back to bed. She moved to his side, leaving the children by the side of the fire.

"I wonder." She stepped out of the cave and looked around.

"Milady," Gendry called, following after her quickly. "You ought to stay in the cave." What was she doing? This was insane. Almost as crazy as trusting the man from the black cell to help three children escape from the Mountain and his men.

Sansa tucked her cloak more tightly around her shoulders and walked faster toward the wolves.

"You said that the great pack was led by a monstrous wolf."

Gendry clutched a torch in one hand and his spear in the other. Of course they were wandering the woods looking for a wolf the size of a horse. And then the wolf would eat them and save Clegane the trouble of killing him.

"The size of a horse, milady."

"Nymeria."

Gendry followed behind her. He gripped the spear more tightly. What were they doing out here? He looked back and could still see the fire.

"Milady," he called. "What are we doing and who is Nymeria?"

"Looking for the big wolf. Her name is Nymeria." Sansa's breath steamed the air as they walked out a little farther. She squinted into the gloom.

"Why?" Gendry asked. "My lady, a freakishly large wolf is a dangerous animal that might eat us."

"That large wolf is not just a freak of nature. It's a direwolf."

"A direwolf?" Gendry followed her more quickly. The sigil of her house would not hesitate to hurt her just because she flew a banner with its picture on it. "Shouldn't we go back?"

Sansa turned to him. She lifted her chin, and Gendry recognized the stubborn look in her eyes.

"You can go back, if you wish. I am going to find that wolf." Her lip trembled for a moment before she turned and marched off with determination.

Gendry followed after her. They were looking for the great horse sized wolf. And he thought Arya was terrible about seeking adventure.

"This is foolishness." Clegane would kill them all if something happened to Sansa, and they were wandering too far from the others. How could he protect them and her when she was wandering off?

"I have to find that wolf." She came to so abrupt a stop that Gendry bumped into her.

"Why, milady?"

"It's my fault that wolf is out here, and I need to see her. If she is healthy and strong, I will know that Arya is well. She was my Lady's sister wolf."

Looking down, Gendry saw what had brought Sansa to so sudden a stop. Enormous tracks dotted the snow surrounded by hundreds of smaller tracks. He looked at the flames, wondering if the red god heard his prayer.

"Awoooooo!"

The sound chilled him to the bones. It was eerie.

Sansa jerked as well. She took a step forward.

"Nymeria? Nymeria!"

A deep, swelling growl came from the trees in front of them.

Sansa stopped. Bright greenish shine from large eyes glimmered against the night.

"Nymeria."

A wolf moved out of the bushes. She walked with her head up and her ears perked forward. Her foot falls were heavy.

"Hello Nymeria." Sansa walked toward the wolf. "Thank you for coming."

The wolf pulled its lips back ferociously displaying enormous fangs.

"Nymeria, it's me, Sansa. Do you know me?"

The wolf moved forward. It sniffed the air, tilting her head to the side even as its lips quivered and the snarl receeded.

"I'm so sorry, Nymeria."

The wolf lowered its lips entirely and perked its ears up.

"Thank you for saving Arya from Joffrey. You saved her from a monster, and then you had to leave her. If I had just told the truth—you might still have your sister. We have both lost our sisters, and our best friend. Lady was my best friend, and the queen killed her. Because I would not tell the king the truth about what happened by the river. I should have, but I wanted to please Joffrey. I know Arya is out there. As long as you are strong, I know she is there."

Gendry could hear how her voice choked as she said the name of her wolf. She sank to one knee in front of the massive wolf.

Nymeria moved toward her slowly.

"Then Joffrey killed father with the aid of a worse man than he."

Nymeria moved forward, pulling her lips back as her large eyes glowered past Sansa.

Gendry took a step back from the menacing gaze of the wolf. As he did, the animal pitched its head back and howled. A chorus answered the large wolf.

"Nymeria, this is Gendry. He is Arya's friend."

The wolf continued to growl. She nuzzled Sansa under the chin with her nose.

"Gendry is helping me get somewhere safe. Winterfell was burned by Theon, and as Winter is here. There is no way to winter at home." She rubbed the side of the wolf's neck. "We have been looking for Arya. No one knows where she is. But I will be doing everything I can in these times to find her. I know she is alive and well. She will survive. I will see her again."

The wolf growled softly at Gendry.

"Nymeria, please. Gendry protects me. He has sworn himself to protect and serve me. Will you stay with me, Nymeria?"

The wolf paced around Sansa before nudging her to her feet. Sansa gently stroked the back of the wolf's neck. The wolf nipped at her hand gently.

"Sandor Clegane also serves me," she told the wolf quietly as they walked. "I know how much Arya hated him, but he saved my life, more than once. He saved me from pain as much as he was able. All the other knights beat me, but he never raised his hand to harm me. He would not hurt me. He is not who he was when he killed that boy that Arya was friends with. His loyalty is to me, and has been for longer than I ever knew or suspected I believe. I did not recognize it at first, but it is the truth I most believe in. He told me about traveling with you some."

The wolf moved ahead of them slowly, sniffing the bushes.

Gendry followed behind them, listening quietly. It was not his place to interrupt them. Arya had talked often of wolves to him. She also called him stupid all the time.

"Oh, Jon Snow, Arya's and my brother, is now Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. I heard such in the Eyrie. I hope it is true. He would be a good leader. He was like father. I will go and see him as soon as I am able. I hope that Arya will be with me when I do. Jon loved her best. She was more a lady to him than I was."

Sansa approached the caves quietly.

"Milady." Jeyne came out of the cave. She stopped as the enormous wolf pulled its lips back in a silent snarl. She dropped to her knees.

"Nymeria, this is Jeyne Heddle. She has been helping to care for the many orphans that the war has created. She is a good person. There are many children here. Will you help me see them to our refuge? You are strong and brave."

Nymeria responded by turning around three times and laying down in front of the cave. The other wolves responded similarly, taking their direction from her.

"Will you and Nymeria take the night watch, Ser Gendry, while I retire with the children?"

"Yes, milady."

"Goodnight, Ser."

Gendry nodded as she retreated into the cave. He took a seat by the fire and added more sticks to it.

The wolf lay with her head up and ears perked toward the forest. Other members of the pack wandered off to hunt.

"Sansa says that knowing you are well means Arya is too."

Nymeria blinked her large eyes at him.

"I am going to find Arya. I never meant to hurt her. I just wanted to help everyone that I was able to help, and the Brotherhood was helping people like me. People that no one else would help—like what Yoren did for her and me. I did not think of it hurting her. I thought she'd prefer to be without me—especially when we finally found her brother. I tried to help her when we were in a brothel. She treated me like I was nothing when I protected her from someone who would have hurt her."

Gendry went silent. What were all these secrets that were kept from him? He should ask Lady Sansa of them. He should, but he had no right to demand information from her.

He could hear restless tossing and turning inside and wondered how well the children were sleeping and how they would respond to the sight of the enormous wolf and all the others outside the cave when morning came. If Lady Sansa told them that the wolf would not hurt them, they would accept it. But whether they should even chance petting the wolf, Gendry was unsure.

The wolf had seemed to understand Sansa in some weird connection. Her eyes showed more than a simple bloodthirsty beast. He stared into them some more. Maybe Sansa was right about the wolves being some sort of connection to Arya. Arya had howled to the wolves, and they answered her call.

"I liked Arya. I never liked a girl until I met her. She was a pain in the arse, but she was good company. She was my first real friend."

The wolf growled softly in response.

"Her father said when he was in Master Mott's Forge that if I wanted to swing a sword rather than forge one that I should come to him. I thought about it when I learned who Arya was and if I had somehow come to swing a sword for him in some strange way."

The wolf continued growling softly before settling her head on her paws in silence.

"I know she worried for her sister. She often spoke about it in her dreams. Don't know if she knew. She would sometimes say in her dreams that only a pack survives the winter. Sometimes she said it when she was awake too, stuff like that. I will find her and hope she will be glad to see me again, and not angry still. I will find her again. I swear it by the red god that I will see her again."

"Ser Gendry."

Gendry turned and looked at Sansa.

"It's time we had a talk about what you want to know about why the queen wished to kill you."


	40. Sandor XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An eerie wolf howl caused him to let out his own snarled shout of rage.

Sandor held the ribbon Sansa had passed into his hand tightly. He hadn't had a chance to really look at it yet had not released his grip on it. They had doused the torches when they came within sight of the castle. He wondered why she gave it to him.

She said they would be together soon. She prayed for it. He would not let those prayers be in vain. The gods had failed her often in the past. He would not let them do so again.

He prowled the empty hallways with Lady Brienne behind him. So far, there was nothing to indicate that anyone was still living here. Given how Gregor had treated the servants, the dogs, and his own family, it was no surprise that they would flee as soon as his death was made public knowledge. Not even the septon had been seen.

A rattling of a chain tinkled down the hallway was accompanied by the sound of soft, quickly shuffling footsteps.

Sandor's lip curled on impulse. If it was the same old man who had suggested that his father lie about his burns, he would gut him before allowing him to be near Sansa. He raised the Valyrian steel blade. He stalked forward up the stairs, ignoring the anxious inquiry of the woman behind him. He should have left her behind to watch the the children and brought the boy with him. But having noticed how close she was to the Kingslayer, it seemed best to separate them, before they hatched a plan against her.

He kicked the door open. It banged off the wall, and a small man with chains looped around his neck fell to his knees.

"Don't hurt me. Please, Master. I serve whomever is the master of this house."

Sandor looked down at the cowering man.

The maester was a man some years older than Sandor, though by no means an old man. Dark marks under his eyes gave him a mildly haunted and overworked look.

Obviously this man had never met Gregor. If he had, he would not spout such words. He would loudly profess to being one of Gregor's creatures, and no one elses. It was too big a risk to not be Gregor's man in what had been Gregor's castle.

"Then you serve me. I am master here now." Sandor moved forward and lowered the tip of the sword just inches in front of the man's nose. "You will serve me loyally or pay the price."

"Yes, my Lord." The maester's eyes crossed as he looked at the sword.

Sandor growled but held in the urge to say that he was no lord. It might be true, but right now what mattered was making sure the sniffling maester knew his place. He was the lord of this castle, now that his brother was dead. The fact that he was a lord who served his lady first was not an issue.

"Where are the servants?" he growled out.

"As soon as the letter of Ser's death arrived from King's Landing, they all fled."

"But you remained?"

"I never met Sre Gregor. Yes, I serve this castle. You, now, my Lord."

Sandor turned the sword around in his hand considering. A maester was useful. If one of the children became sick, he could treat them. He would surely be a great help.

"Betray us, and I will cut you open and let the crows feast while you live. You will not leave this castle, and no ravens will either. I have ordered them all to be killed."

"I understand, Ser." The maester stayed on his knees, trembling in fear. He averted his eyes from his face.

"I am not a ser. You will remember that, and you will look me in the face when you speak to me." He was a man, not a mutt. He deserved the respect of being looked in the eye—especially in his own castle. Even the littlest girls Sansa had adopted had started looking into his face. If those little girls could do so, surely a maester could as well.

The man nodded fearfully, looking up at Sandor. Sandor slid the sword toward the maester, lifting the the chain on it with the tip so carefully that not even the cloth of his robe was cut.

"How long have you been here?"

"Less than a year, my Lord. I never met Ser Gregor. I heard the stories of him from the servants. They were all frightened to speak ill of him in above a whisper even while he was gone."

Sandor nodded to him.

"What happened to the Septon?"

"He's dead."

Sandor grinned, despite the ugly way it cast his facial burns. That Septon had annointed Gregor, knowing full well what the Mountain did to his siblings, his father, and even his own mother. Some of the worst people from his past were gone. He would not have Sansa know such people. She had knnown and been betrayed by horrible people as it was.

"Lady Brienne, stay here and guard the maester."

He moved as quickly as he was able toward the other side of the castle. He wanted to inspect his sister's room. It was probably in shambles. He wished he could prevent Sansa from seeing some of the ugliness of this place. Winterfell was a dark but beautiful castle with warmth that welled up from somewhere deep within it. Clegane Keep was dark and full of terrors and a coldness that could chill even the northern lords with its whispers.

He paused at the faded yellow door. Hopefully, this room would not be too horribly destroyed. He pushed the door open slowly. Finding it empty, he sheathed his sword. A slow breath left his lungs.

Dry crumbling leaves littered the floor. The white quilt on the bed was embroidered with vines of purple lupine flowers and was a little frayed around the edges but still in relatively good repair. Lifting the bottom of the blanket, he found the initials EC. His big sister had done this embroidery. He padded over to a wooden chest at the foot of the bed. Lifting it up revealed a number of dresses in varying shapes and colors. When his sister died, she had been about Sansa's age and size. He felt a savage hope that Gregor had suffered a long and painful death—for what he had done to his family and his wives and everyone else. Hopefully, some of these old dresses would fit her.

He sifted through them, wondering if it was still here. At the very bottom, his fingers closed around a small lap harp that had been his sister's joy. She had played to him often as a little boy. It was the only thing about her that he recalled with any detail. He lifted the pretty instrument. The strings were in poor repair, and the pretty colors and silver inlay were faded and peeling. However, it could be repaired and likely without too much trouble. Hopefully, it would please the little bird, and the maester was wearing a link that indicated he had knowledge of repairing such. He remembered hearing her play a few times in King's Landing and in Winterfell.

He carried it off with him, ignoring the large loom in the corner. This room needed to be properly cleaned and made ready for Sansa. Hopefully, she would like it. It was directly across from the room that he would take for his own.

There were a lot of repairs to make, and they would have to wait till everyone was safe in the castle. He took the harp and walked out the door, shutting it behind him.

"Captain."

He turned to the men approaching.

"The castle has no one here from what we have found."

Sandor nodded, waiting to hear what else they had discovered.

"The food stores are very good."

Sandor nodded. Gregor was good at terrorizing and plundering. There was also almost certainly a large supply of gold somewhere in the castle. Lannisters and their debts. Gregor was surely paid well to be Tywin Lannister's Mad Dog. At least the gold would be going to help keep someone precious safe and to help repair some wrongs he had done.

"We will leave at first light. Until then, work on cleaning this place up."

Sansa did not need to see gouges in doors. She did not need to see blood stained carpets. She did not need to see the filth or dilapidation or horrors these halls had known. At least all the servants were gone. If they had been here, there would have been no choice about what to do with them. The only thing to do would have been to put them to the sword. They would not be given the chance to harm Sansa. He hated that this was all he had to offer her. She deserved a fine castle, a beautiful place to be happy, a place of light, close to the ocean.

He lifted the ribbon she had given him. It was one from the dress she had been wearing. He could not help but wonder what would have happened had he asked for a token from her at the Tourney of the Hand. She gave him one without his asking. He rubbed his thumb on it. What would she think if he returned with it decorating his arm? Did he even dare? There would doubtlessly be some member of the group to find some way to make him feel inadequate. Did that matter? Sansa probably wanted him to wear it. She gave it to him. Surely, she found him worthy of her favor to give it to him. Would she be pleased if he wore it on his arm?

He sighed, turning from the fireplace in the great hall where he had his face held so long ago. He needed to get to work cleaning and make sure that the harp was ready for Sansa when she arrived.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of giving instructions to people and getting dirt and filth from the castle. Doors with the worst and most violent gouges were taken down. Rugs with questionable stains were removed from the main areas.

It was late at night by the time they finally bedded down in the great hall. The rest of the cleaning would have to wait until everyone was here. Sandor sat in the large chair for the lord of the castle. He slid a finger over the snarling noses of the hounds that formed the arm rests of the chair. It had been another of the gifts Lord Tywin's father had gifted them for saving his life.

The pretty harp sat on the table, glittering in the fading light from the fires. The maester fixed it quicker than he had thought it possible. He twisted the ribbon through his fingers idly. He knew he ought to sleep, but also that sleep would not come till he knew Sansa was safe in this castle.

Her room was ready and directly across the hall from his. She was safer with him close to her. She liked being close to him now, being curled close in his arms when they rode. He wondered briefly if the castle would afford them any more privacy than travel had. It was probably unseemly how close he had placed his room, but it had been his room growing up.

"You ought to sleep."

"Could say the same to you." Sandor said, taking a swig of Dornish red from the flagon on the table. There was a plentiful supply of wine and so much more in the cellar.

"Lady Sansa gave you a ribbon."

"What of it?" Sandor snapped. Would the ugly wench really want to make a matter out of it? He did not poke at her idiotic mooning after the Kingslayer, who could never be anything to her.

"She thinks highly of you, Captain. It is my place to serve her, not judge her decisions."

Brienne went over to the opposite side of the hall from where the men were sleeping except for the Payne boy.

Sandor sighed, leaning back in the chair. He played with the ribbon before closing his eyes and drifted in and out of consciousness until morning.

It was a relief that the trip back to Sansa was going so smoothly. They were making good time at their brisk trot. The woods were humming with the songs of so many little birds.

The first sign that something was amiss was when Stranger pinned his ears back and bugled angrily. The charger stopped and pawed the ground furiously, lowering his head.

A gentle squeeze from Sandor's legs urged the great warhorse forward. In the muck, a small piece of something was caught his eye. He dismounted and peeled it from under the thin layer of ice. His heart nearly stopped when he saw the giant wolf tracks that flattened most of the snowfall and a bright smear of blood.

"Sansa!" He swung up and urged the horse forward at a gallop toward the caves. "Sansa!"

An eerie wolf howl caused him to let out his own snarled shout of rage.

He burst into the clearing in front of the cave with Oathkeeper clutched tight in his hand.

Sansa was seated in front of the cave with an enormous she-wolf accepting bites of cooked venison from her hand and pats on the head.

The wolf rose, pulling its lips back.

"Wait, Nymeria. Please."

The wolf stopped with one foot raised to move toward him. He glared at the monstrous creature. What was it doing so close to Sansa?

"Sandor." She walked out to the side of the large wolf. She placed a hand on Nymeria's shoulder. "Nymeria, he is my Captain."

The wolf dropped its snarl, but its eyes remained alert and watchful.

"Do sit down, Nymeria. Sandor will do me no harm."

Sandor felt how fast his breathing was coming as he dismounted and moved to her.

"Captain, is everything well?" Sansa moved to him quickly. She touched his hand.

"Aye, Little Bird. I see you've been making friends." His eyes were locked with the wolf, and he moved a hand to touch her arm. He moved her a little closer to him and sheathed the sword.

"Nymeria. I do not believe you met her." Sansa stepped up close to him, gazing up at him with her cheek grazing the fabric covering his breast plate. "This was Arya's wolf."

Sandor nodded. This was the wolf that bit Joffrey and escaped. The wolf was watching him with her strange eyes.

"It's alright. I'm glad you're back."

"You lost something, Little Bird." He held the dirty ribbon out to her.

Sansa leaned against him for a moment after she took the ribbon.

He curved forward slightly around her, wrapping his arms firmly around her. He rested his cheek on top of her head.

"Everything is fine. I'm sorry for worrying you."

"We should move out and get to the castle, Little Bird." He passed his fingers through her soft hair.

"We're all packed and ready to go."

He stepped back as he heard the approach of the rest of the men who went with him to the keep with him.

"My Lady."

"Lady Brienne."

Sandor stepped back from her reluctantly.

"I will ride with you today, Captain."

"As you wish."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad people hijacked my former email address, so I had to change it. I changed my user name here to better match the new email address. I am a little obsessive compulsive about such things.


	41. Sansa XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You promised me that one."

From the moment the party arrived at the castle, the day was madness. Everyone was hustling and bustling with everything that needed doing. There was so much to move in and organize. Rooms needed to be prepared and jobs assigned. Even the youngest child who was not more than two years old was helping, mostly by carrying small things and following her.

Sansa had not had a moment of silence. Her opinion was solicited about everything from the rooms that were for each of the children to how the pantry should be organized and what would be desired for the evening meal and breakfast the next day. They needed to take stock of everything within the castle and organizing it all, which was Sansa's job. It was the one part of being a lady at which Arya always bested her.

She let out a deep sigh as the first of the younger children were finally being escorted to bed. It freed her to retire as well. For the sake of appearances, she had to remain for the entirety of the somewhat small welcoming feast that they prepared that day. A few of the younger children had danced while Jeyne and Willow sang some of the happy songs. If she was any judge of character, Sandor was more tired than she. He had shown her her room earlier, but she had not had a chance to explore it or even give it more than a thought. The needs of the house had quickly dragged her away. She shut the door softly behind her, turning to lean against it softly.

She had been alone for a long time. It was slightly overwhelming to suddenly be surrounded by so many people that were all in need of something from her, be it advice or a smile.

She walked around her room, enjoying the only sounds being that of the fire and a soft wind blowing outside. Carrying the candelabra over to the bedside table, a wrapped object on the bed caught her eye. She curled up on the bed after taking off her boots and placing them in a place under a chair.

The pillows were soft, and the bed was just perfect after so long on the road. It would be a delight to fall back and sleep snuggled under all the covers. She reached for the parcel at the end of the bed and took it on her lap, unwrapping it as she leaned back on the pillows.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as she lifted the small lap harp. There had been no opportunities to play in so long. She had not realized how much she missed it. Her fingers teasingly danced across the strings.

They rippled their notes prettily. Placing her hands over them, she stilled the strings. She went to the door, cradling the harp in her arms.

During the tour, Sandor had pointed out that his room was directly across the hall. While it was a rather unusual arrangement, she could hardly claim that she was not pleased by it. She liked keeping him close. When she woke up with him next to her after being attacked, it made her feel completely safe for the first time since her father's execution. With the current arrangement, she and Sandor were the only two in this portion of the castle. Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime were in the adjacent wing, and the children had mostly chosen to take rooms in the servants' quarters. Gendry chose to make his room in the forge.

Sansa opened the door and looked at the door of his room, wondering what to call Sandor. It was hardly acceptable to address him as captain when their positions in the castle were such as they were. He did not care for being called 'my lord.' She would never address his as 'Dog.' While she had called him by his name, was that really acceptable here? If anything, their relationship was more of a lord and his ward at the present time.

She knocked softly at his door. No one answered. She knocked again a little louder.

"Sandor, my Lord?"

Still there was no response. Perhaps he was still down in the great hall. He had fetched a fresh flagon of wine just before the children began being taken to bed. Cradling the harp, she pulled her door shut and quietly descended to the great hall.

The castle was dark, but wandering a dark castle was nothing new to Sansa. Wandering the godswood in King's Landing and through the Red Keep at night had been the safest times for her. A cool wind swirled around her for a moment carrying the faint scent of the lilac oil she had dabbed on her wrists before the feast. The doors of the hall were still thrown open, but with most of the candles having been carried off to light the way to bed, it had darkened considerably. Only one fireplace was still lit and a few windows allowed in the moonlight.

She took a step forward and looked into the large room. It was only half the size of Winterfell's great hall, but it was large enough. Would he still be in here? He had carried wine with him almost everywhere.

"Agh."

A bucket of water rattled with the force of the kick that sent it tumbling and rolling into the fire. The fire hissed as it was doused.

Sansa jumped back at the snarled howl.

"Sandor?" she called.

The heavy sound of a man sinking into a chair and the slosh of wine in a flagon emboldened her.

"Sandor."

"Aye, Little Bird."

"Are you alright?" she walked toward the chair where she could make out his faint outline. She stopped several feet away in a shaft of moonlight coming through the window, squinting at it and wishing that she could see him better.

"Fine, Li—ady Sansa."

"I like it when you call me Little Bird." She held the harp softly and swirled her hips a little before hearing the voice of her septa, 'A lady does not fidget.'

Her only answer was the sloshing of more alcohol. She closed her eyes for a moment still able to smell the sour stench of it. Courtesies are a ladies' armor. Sandor had never cared for her armor in the past, but she did not know what would please him. He was drunk.

Thinking of the fire, she found a proper question that would be acceptable. "Were you preparing to retire for the evening, my Lord?"

"Not your lord."

Sansa smiled softly in the direction she thought his face was. She sat on a small stool and arranged her skirts, keeping careful hold of the harp.

"I was just looking for you."

"What do you want?" His voice was somewhat slurred, and his clothes rustled with his shifting movements.

"I found the harp you left for me. I wanted to thank you for all you've done for me, for all of us." She held the harp on her lap. "We'd be lost without you."

She could hear him shifting in the chair and swigging another swallow of wine.

"Why do you drink so?" She could not stop the hurt from creeping out. His drinking was one thing that concerned her. It made her worry for him.

"Told you s'all a man needs." To punctuate his statement, he took another drink.

"Or a woman." Sansa whispered. Did he mean all a man or woman needed was wine—or that a woman could satisfy a man as well as wine? She looked over at the fireplace for a moment, wondering.

"This is the one, where Gregor did this." His hand moved out and up around where she knew the burned side of his face to be.

Sansa felt a stabbing and looked between the fireplace and from where his voice was coming. What could she say to soothe him? He was in his anger. He was trapped in a place of such misery, a place that had no safety in his memories.

She plucked a few soft notes on the harp, the beginning of a song her mother used to sing to all the children as babies in Winterfell. She had listened and learned to sing it herself and play it on the harp when Rickon was a baby. She had helped her mother as much as she could with Bran and Rickon, her sweet brothers.

She plucked more strings softly, playing her fingers in a way she thought she had forgotten since being Sansa the Captive and Alayne the Bastard. The softness of the notes filled the room until Sandor spoke a little.

"Pretty song bird."

Sansa stilled the strings of the harp.

"Sandor, is there anything I can do for you?"

"Sing."

Sansa put her hands to the strings and began plucking them for a moment before softly adding her voice. She had promised him Florian and Jonqil. She sang only the first several verses.

Sandor chuckled darkly as she stilled the strings.

"You promised me that one."

"I always keep my promises. Though you called this song—a fool and his—" Sansa cut off. She would not say the word he had used that night. It was not a polite word that a lady ought to use. Whether he cared if she said it, she cared.

"I did," His voice became very soft as he said it. "You did not sing the whole story."

"Something for nights to come," Sansa said, tilting her head back as he stood up.

"Aye, tomorrow." He stopped in front of her. He brushed his thumb softly over the top of her right cheek bone while his other fingertips brushed her ear and cheek as softly as flower petals.

Sansa leaned her cheek into his hand, closing her eyes for a moment of pure peace. The smell of the wine on him reminded her strongly of the times that they had had in King's Landing. She remembered all the times he had complained of her unwillingness to look into his face.

"I look forward to it," Sansa said, opening her eyes even though she could not see his face in the dark.

Sandor's hand slid down from her cheek and over her shoulder. It moved down her arm. His hand moved slowly brushing lightly over her hand and finding its way to her hip to squeeze gently.

Sansa stepped closer to him. She could feel the heat coming off him, and his hand gave her hip a slight squeeze before sliding around to her lower back. The heat of his fingers pressing the muscles of her back gave her a comfort.

"Is there something else?" she asked, stepping forward and placing a hand on his chin. Was there anything else that Sandor might desire? Would he give her a kiss?

"I'll escort you to your room."

Sansa placed her hands on his arm and followed him toward her room. There were so many unanswered questions. She looked around, wondering what harm it would do to ask some questions. Why had he left her room before she answered him? Would she have gone if he had waited for her answer?

"Sandor—"

So many memories of nighttime walks. Two really stuck in her memory. The time he threatened to kill her if she told anyone the story of how his face was burned and the time he told her not to be afraid of one of the Kingsguard—he called him a toad.

"Your room, Little Bird."

Sansa released her hold reluctantly, thinking about how often they had curled together in a bed. The King and Queen had not even shared a room at Winterfell, though her parents had not spent a night apart when they were in the same castle.

"Thank you."

He bowed his head.

Sansa curtsied. She reached out, touching part of the flagon he was holding.

"I look forward to tomorrow evening. Tomorrow, Florian will see Jonqil for the first time in the baths at Maidenpool." She could not help but remembering Sandor's eyes when he saw her in her bath. She blushed lightly.

"Aye," Sandor said, leaning down so his face was partially illuminated by the flickering light of the fire. He released the flagon in her hand.

"Thank you, Sandor." She tilted her chin up, dropping the hand with the flagon to her side. Their chests were just brushing. He had gotten so close to her. Her hand moved and cupped the unburned side of his cheek, petting his stubble.

He leaned closer to her mouth. His gray eyes were hot with a slow burn.

She moved her lips and face up just enough to brush his tenderly. He did not move his lips to meet or part from hers.

"Till tomorrow," Sansa said, backing into her room. She held the door open for a moment, intensely aware of the heat searing her cheeks. But her eyes were unwilling to look away from where he stood perfectly still in the hallway.

Sandor bowed his head to her as she slowly shut the door, keeping her eyes on his face the whole time.


	42. Jaime III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strange urge to laugh almost overwhelmed him for a moment. How strange was this? The girl who had every reason to distrust and despise Lannister, yet was one, and was trusting the Lannister that no one else trusted.

Jaime paced his room restlessly. How long was he going to be kept here? He had been a gently kept captive for almost a moon-turn and a half. How long did she think she could keep him here before Cersei sent someone to search him out? Granted, his last known position was not in the vicinity of Clegane Keep. But Cersei would not give him up for dead.

He was trapped in this hell hole of a castle. He closed his eyes, trying to find sleep again. Sleeping seemed to be the only thing he was allowed to do, other than pace around the room. This Keep was a miserable little place. The only nice thing was that at night he often heard music from the adjacent tower. All ladies played instruments, and Sansa was apparently no exception. He remembered a beautiful lady who used to sing him to sleep when he was little and pet his hair.

The ring of steel on steel sounded from the courtyard below, ending any notions of attempting sleep. He had not been able to practice his sword-work in the moon-turn since he was recaptured. With a sigh, he rose and went to the window, throwing open the shutters to look down.

A soft knocking roused his attention. He pulled back and shut the shudders.

"Ser Jaime."

Jaime sighed and turned as the door opened. Usually, he was not been invited from his room except for evening meals.

"You were invited down to the yard." Lady Brienne stood in front of him.

"Oh fun." Jaime reached for his cloak. What a delight—invited to watch others and know how superior they were to him now—when he had once been second to none.

He knew his clothing was rumpled, but one of the side-effects of having lost his hand and his squires was that he could not as easily take care of his appearance—in particular his clothes were difficult to manage.

Jaime sighed, glancing at his reflection for a moment before following Brienne. If he tried to escape, the Hound would be sent for him and probably kill him. He was trapped here until his good sister thought it right to release him.

"My Lord."

Jaime jerked up in surprise. Lady Sansa stood in front of him, wearing a faded plain brown with white vines embroidered on the bodice. A heavy white shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Even in the plain clothes, she was lovely, not as beautiful as Cersei had been, but still beautiful.

"I was hoping that you would find a walk in the godswood agreeable after being confined for so long, Ser."

He looked down at her.

"I hoped we might talk as—as family with some mutual interests."

"So family keeps family captive."

"Of course, they do. I think of you as a guest who has not been allowed to leave yet." Sansa said, leading the way past the boys who were swinging swords in the yard with Sandor watching over them.

"What is it that will convince my goodsister to allow her brother to leave?" Jaime asked, unable to prevent the sarcasm from leaking out as he gave her a false bow.

Sansa did not even blink at this. She was probably so used to false gestures from all her time at court that it had no effect.

"Lannisters always pay their debts. Is this true?"

"Oh yes. I owe you for saving my life." Jaime sighed. What was the bottom of this line? "How could I forget?"

"Forgive me, but Lannisters have been a cause of a great amount of physical and emotional pain for me. Whenever I trusted one, they betrayed me."

"I am not my father or my sister."

"Your appearance has greatly changed since I first met you. But how things appeared to me have so often proven false. I think you require more incentive."

"Incentive?" The girl talked as if she had been with Baelish, that sneaking worm. She must have gotten a better education.

"I do not want to pry, but some things make no sense to me."

"It is a common disease these days." Jaime said, stopping by a bench that Sansa was sweeping snow off.

She turned, walking down the path in the godswood and stopping next to a large bare tree.

"How did Tyrion escape? I am certain—" she pierced him with her eyes. "Certain that the queen would have locked him up as securely as she could."

"I let him out with some help from another." Jaime said. "I was in his debt."

He could not help thinking about how Tyrion had raged at him for the part he played in the Tysha incident. He deserved his brother's anger. He had never stopped regretting what he did. He had not known his father would give her to the guards. He never would have told his brother such if he had known the plan. The girl had smiled so brightly when Tyrion was brought into the room. She believed he would save her.

"He was guilty, and I let him go free. Then he killed my father."

"Tyrion did not kill Joffrey. Who told you that?" Sansa took his arm lightly and continued forward into the forest. Her footfalls were light and delicate on the powdery soft snow.

Jaime looked up at her. Was it possible that Tyrion lied to him? But how could she know Tyrion was not involved, unless she was. She was there the night Joffrey died. As Tyrion's wife, she would have been seated next to his brother. She would have seen every horrible thing that happened, and just the small amount he had heard from Ser Loras among a few others about the wedding, he could surmise that it had been the second worst Tyrion had ever suffered. She would have been right in the middle of it.

"The court found him guilty, but he asked for trial by combat." Jaime allowed her to keep her hold on his right arm, ignoring the footfalls of Lady Brienne.

"Who sat on that court? Anyone who might have in the least had any reason to find him innocent?"

The people of the court had no reason to find Tyrion innocent. His sister had only ever let Tyrion live because of him. She hated him worse than anyone. He never understood why. His father had been worse to Tyrion than anyone. Mace Tyrell had a daughter who might have been poisoned, and he was a blustering fool. The only one who had stood up for Tyrion had been the Dornish viper, and likely it was simply because he knew Cersei selected the Mountain as her champion, and it would irritate Mace Tyrell.

"Tyrion loved you. He asked me as often as he thought he could for insight about what my brother might do when the deaths of Bran and Rickon were discovered. He was terrified that they would kill you for spite."

He knew Tyrion loved him. Tyrion was his only faithful family member. Cersei abandoned him when he was no longer useful to her, probably long before that. His father mocked him with a gift of a Valyrian steel blade when he was a cripple who could barely lace his breeches. He had gone to make Stark understand that his brother needed to be returned. Tyrion would do no less for him.

"If he didn't, who did?"

Why would he lie about one thing and be honest about the other? The lie and the truth were both aimed at hurting him. It was because of what he did to Tyrion.

"How much have you heard about King Joffrey's wedding?"

Jaime shifted. He had heard a great deal and none of it was good.

"Joffrey spent a great deal of time his last day tormenting Tyrion publicly. Tyrion gave him a nearly priceless book that Joffrey chopped to pieces with his new Valyrian sword which he named Widow's Wail. He insulted your brother in every way possible. Tyrion showed remarkable self-control throughout that evening. It went from bad to worse. A whisper in Joffrey's ear from a man with a talent for causing discord convinced him that jousting dwarves were an acceptable type of entertainment. It was cruel and heartless. Joffrey demanded that Tyrion fill his cup before perversely dumping it on him and making him crawl on the floor to retrieve the cup. He stole his food, and when he reached for the cup to get a drink to help swallow the pigeon pie, he began to choke. The whole hall became an uproar, and I do not know what happened then really. I just knew I had to get out of there, and that is the night that with the aid of someone who wanted my claim to the North stole me away before I could be killed for a crime of which I knew not."

"What do you mean you knew not? Who helped you?" Jaime tried to stem the questions. He felt a weight had been lifted from his chest, just knowing that his brother had not betrayed him. He still had his brother, or he had before he told him what he did. But his brother had not betrayed him.

"I mean I did not know of the plot to kill the king, though I played a part in it."

Jaime stepped back. Sansa Stark had played a part.

"I carried in the poison that was used to kill him, something deadly from across the narrow sea. It did not look like a pleasant way to go."

Jaime moved forward. Why was she telling him all these things?

"The stones of my hairnet were not jewels that they looked like, but poison. I can only tell you for certain a few things. The only person who touched my hairnet at the wedding was Lady Olenna. She was moving around shortly before he began to choke."

The Queen of Thorns?

"I told them what Joffrey was like. She seemed to suspect it already. My father tried to protect me from Joffrey, though I never thanked him." Her voice choked a little as she continued. "I imagine Lady Olenna would do no less to protect her granddaughter."

Jaime shook his head. It was so much to process. The Queen of Thorns was a very intelligent woman, more so than any of the rest of her family. She could be part of a plot like this. But she would not have been able to manage it all. She would have needed help.

"Do you know how I came to be married to your brother?"

Jaime shook his head. He knew how his brother's first wedding had been.

"The Tyrells wanted to take me to High Garden. They told me I would be wed to Willas, the heir of High Garden. They told me how kind he is often, how he loved to raise good hunting dogs and such, how Margeary and all their cousins and I would be sisters. I wanted this, though someone had already promised to help me escape. I was foolish and confided the secret plan of going to High Garden to someone—thus allowing the secret to reach Lord Tywin, who wed me to Tyrion with all haste. He could not let the roses have the lion's share."

Jaime shifted, unable to avoid thinking about Tyrion's first wedding. His brother had been happy in his first wedding. This wedding would have been nothing but misery for both, though Tyrion would have sought to make her happy. Tyrion was not a cruel person. He would have wanted what he thought he had with his first wife, what Jaime knew he had with her.

Sansa went quiet for a while.

They walked through the woods in silence except for the faint sound of steel clashing in the yard beyond the godswood.

"Why are you telling me this?" Jaime asked her. She said something about incentive, but how was this incentive?

"There were basically two people who helped me escape the sadistic tortures of the King. One is dead and one is alive. The one who is alive masterminded everything, probably far more than I know. I have no doubt of that. I also believe firmly that he played a part in the death of Lord Jon Arryn. I would not put it past him to have arranged for all the animosity between the Lannisters and the Starks."

"Who?"

Sansa took a deep breath.

"Petyr Baelish."

"He did save me from death at the hands of the queen. She always hated me. I thought she cared about me. But I have learned from someone I trust with my life, because he has saved it more than once, that Lord Baelish is the man who took my father captive and allowed him to be killed—just like the queen. He probably rejoiced when the fighting began between our families."

Jaime did not know what to say to those statements. His sister could have saved Lord Eddard Stark.

"Joffrey called it a mercy to have his head chopped off."

What did she want him to say? He knew he held some responsibility for how Joffrey had turned out. He had turned a blind eye to how Cersei treated him. He allowed Joffrey to think Robert was his father, and Robert had never loved him. He would have loved the children better if Cersei had allowed. He should have done so anyway. He did not have to be as indifferent to them as he had been.

"There is nothing I can say to make up for all you have lost at the hands of my family."

"But you can do something that will help." Sansa had a set look in her eyes. She released his arm and turned to look up into his face.

She had been talking of the use he could be. He knew she had said such to save his life. He had not known she had a plan, a plan that seemed to be of benefit to his family and her.

"You are the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

"I will not harm Tommen."

"I do not want anything bad to happen to Tommen. He is a very sweet boy."

Jaime could not deny the differences between his sons. There were no similarities. Tommen was kind and sweet and gentle. Joffrey was cruel and angry and vicious.

"Tommen would not have killed my father. He does not like killing."

She turned on the path and motioned for them to leave the wood.

"What do you want?"

"I want you to bring Lord Baelish to me to answer for his crimes."

Jaime followed her toward the door. She wanted Baelish. Baelish. He knew that the man was no friend to anyone.

"He is in the Vale." Did she know more of him?

"He was journeying toward King's Landing. He said that Cersei has made a bigger mess than he would have thought possible in so short a time."

He could not help agreeing with the sentiment. His sister had no control of her temper. She went from one bad decision to another. Her appointments to the key positions had been laughable, none more so than wanting him to be Hand. She had allowed the Faith to have an army again. She viewed every bit of advice as being directed at her because she was a woman. She was destroying herself by making poor and poorer decisions.

"He has probably arrived by now. I plan to send Brienne with you and then she will return to me. It is not wise to travel alone."

"What makes you think that I will help you?"

"You owe me a debt, but I suspect that Lord Baelish owes your family a great deal more. I think you will help me to help your family. He is no friend to either of us. He purposefully distanced himself under the guise of being useful before any trouble could be attributed to him. Perhaps—peace between our families will begin with you and me."

Peace was good. He swore to never raise a sword to strike Starks or Tullys.

"I have no wish to fight you or yours, my Lady. I gave my word to your mother that I would help her children return to her. I have done what I can to assist in that. I know what I have been told that your brothers are dead. Your sister, I know only that the girl being sent to the Boltons is not Arya Stark."

Was there any way that he could make her see he was true? She had reason to doubt all Lannisters, really. The strange urge to laugh almost overwhelmed him for a moment. How strange was this? The girl who had every reason to distrust and despise Lannister, yet was one, and was trusting the Lannister that no one else trusted.

"Will you bring Lord Baelish to me alive?"

Jaime took a deep breath. His escape was contingent upon the delivery of another again.

"I do not know how long it will take to capture so slippery a creature as he."

"I see no need to rush you, Ser. The task you are charged with is not a simple one."

"With your permission, I will prepare to depart in the morning."

"You are free to leave as soon as you are ready and you wish. Lady Brienne will accompany you. I would not send anyone alone to the capital in winter."

"I will return with the mockingbird to sing in a cage as soon as I am able."

Sansa nodded, stepping up on the first step so she was able to look directly into his eyes without tilting her head up.

"A marriage was not enough for peace between our families, but mutual revenge might serve as the first stone."

Jaime bowed his head to her as she curtsied softly and turned to walk up the stairs.


	43. Sandor XV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have you been following me, my Lord?"

Sandor paced the godswood with the small weirwood he had dug up. Where would be the best place to plant it?

He had set up her other present in a room that acted as her sewing room. He hoped she would like her presents as well as she liked the harp he had given her when they first arrived at the Keep.

There was a small clear circular area with a radius of about ten feet in the upper middle area of the godswood. It seemed that it would be the best place for the very small weirwood with its eerie face.

Closing his eyes, he focused on how she sang and played for him, just for him, every night. It was so soothing, that and training all the boys to be fighters in the yard throughout the day. Several showed talent for the sword, one with a lance, and two showed remarkable ability with a bow. Sansa needed as many protectors as could be had from the motley group of children she had taken to be her people. Their people—she had called them. She had put him on the same level with herself.

She kissed him goodnight every night after he walked her back to her room and she played for him. He had not yet been bold enough to kiss her back, but he would be damned to all seven hells before he would try to prevent a pretty lady from kissing him. _Florian and Jonquil_ had concluded last night, and she had not told him the song she intended to sing to him next.

He knelt and put the simple spade into the hard dirt and began to dig a hole for the queer tree. It did not take long before he was easing the tree into the proper sized hole and pressing the dirt back in around it. He gazed at the strange face. There were none of these trees with faces in King's Landing. He had never given much thought to gods before, but Sansa had clearly been fond of the godswood at the Red Keep. It was reasonable to draw out that she might likewise enjoy the one here, and a weirwood would remind her of Winterfell and his promise to take her home.

The Isle of Faces was full of these trees with eyes. One time when he was looking through the eyes of one of the largest ones, he thought he saw a young boy looking at him, a boy he had seen a long time ago. He shook his head. It was ridiculous to think on such things.

"You remember to keep her safe. You know what happens if you fail." He stood and stomped away heavily, kicking the snow to make the walking easier for her when he brought her here to see her present.

He shut the newly made gate, locking it as he left. The bastard of the King's was an excellent smith. If the boy put as much effort into learning sword play, he would be a fine warrior.

Sandor entered the castle and went directly to the kitchen. He could smell the scent of the lemons and bread and honeyed chicken the moment that he entered. It was delicious. There would be a small feast for Sansa's name day at least. She deserved a feast and so much more. She would have been a wonderful queen, with her kindness and gentleness. At least, she was here with him instead of with the exhiled Imp.

One of the littlest of the little girls who could be no more than three years old was sitting under a table, playing with a small stick doll. She smiled at him and hugged the little stick figure. She stood and wrapped an arm around his leg.

He ignored her and looked at all that had been prepared. It looked like it would be an excellent meal.

"My Lord."

Turning, he saw Sansa standing at the entrance with a young maid at her side.

"My Lady."

Sansa smiled bright as the summer sun. The little one released him.

"Lady Sansa, hug me."

Sansa knelt and hugged the little girl.

"Weasel, please go and get some water for me."

The little girl smiled shyly at Sansa and him before she withdrew and grabbed a small bucket as she left the kitchens.

"Would you join me for a ride? I have been wanting for a chance to see if Nymeria has returned."

Sandor nodded.

"Tansy, please go have Wat ready our horses."

The girl shot Sandor a shy smile before nodding.

Why did all the girls keep doing that? He had never had so many women smile at him. He was ugly as could be. Why did they act like he was Aemon the Dragonknight?

"Yes, milady." She half bobbed and half curtsied before moving away swiftly toward the stables.

"May I escort you to collect your riding cloak, Lady Sansa?"

"I would enjoy your company."

They walked in silence to her room. He looked over at her where she held his arm gently with both of her soft, sweet hands. What was with all the giggling of the little women who served here? All the younger ones gave him wide eyes and bright smiles. They still occasionally looked nervous, but generally seemed comfortable enough with him to look into his face.

Sansa gazed up at him.

"Sandor, I have something for you."

He nodded, bowing his head. She had something for him? A present? He never had a real present before.

"And I have something special for you, Little Bird."

She went to the chair in her room, leaving him in the doorway and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders.

"It's in my sewing room. Am I allowed back in there yet? Gendry has returned to his forge."

Sandor nodded. Her secnod present was ready if the boy was out of the room.

Sansa took his arm and led him down the stairs to the door. She pushed it open and gasped.

Sandor glanced down at her, careful to keep his face from betraying any emotion. Why would she give him a present? It wasn't his name day. He was not her husband or betrothed.

"Oh, a loom." She moved into the room and touched the simply constructed large floor loom. "Oh Sandor, it's lovely."

"I heard you say to the girls that the castle would be more homey with some tapestries."

Sansa gave him a soft look and batted her eyes.

"Have you been following me, my Lord?"

"It's a small castle, Little Bird." Sandor grunted. "Word travels quickly."

Sansa smiled.

"Thank you for the loom. I will put it in use first thing tomorrow morning when the light is good for it. I think I know just the tapestry that I want to make."

Sandor nodded.

"As it pleases you, my Lady."

Sansa smiled. She moved to her drawers and reached inside the middle one. Whatever she held, she tucked to her chest as she turned around.

"Do sit down for a moment." Sansa motioned to the chair between the fire and the window.

He eased down, stretching out his scarred leg and rubbing over the injury. She placed the parcel in his hands.

"On a nameday, people give you presents." Sandor said, wondering what was within the parcel.

He had never been given a real present before by anyone, let alone a lady. There were the toys that had been made for Gregor and himself. But those had been presents to curry favor with his father. This was a present that was being given for no readily apparent reason. His only presents had been more like rewards.

"Why does a present have to be for a nameday only? This day marks the end of our third moonturn here together."

Sansa smiled softly at him. Her cheeks were a soft shade of pink as she rested her hands calmly in her lap.

"What is it?" Sandor asked, lifting it up and turning it around. It was soft and slightly squishy.

"Open it and find out," Sansa said, looking up at him.

He grasped the ribbon and untied it, placing it on the table next to him. He pulled off the thin piece of cloth wrapping it and set it aside.

Within was the most beautiful fur lined cloak he had seen in his life. It was fit for a high lord.

Black bear fur lined the full length of the inside of the cloak and composed the hood. On the back was a panel of black wool delicately embroidered. In bright red thread, a tiny northern cardinal was stitched with its wings outstretched. Beneath the bird, staring up at it was a kind of dog stitched in gold, but it was not like any hound he had ever seen.

"I know it is not your sigil," Sansa said in a somewhat rushed voice. "But given how things are, I did not think it wise to display the three hounds of your house on their autumn field. I do not know who might spot us, but better that they think we are some hedge knight made the day after Blackwater and his bride. There were so many, no one could possibly know them all."

Sandor cut her off by standing and tossing it over his shoulders. The length was perfect.

"It's wonderful, Little Bird. I have never had such before." He carefully tied it. He could think of no better way to thank Sansa than by wearing the cloak. He liked what she sewed on it more than he had ever cared for his own sigil. She combined many elements of the two of them.

Sansa accepted his hand when he offered. They walked quickly down to the main yard. The cloak flowed behind him with a fluttering movement. He lifted her up onto the back of her mare before swinging up on back of his horse.

It was only after they left the castle that he voiced a question.

"What is the dog on the back? I have never seen its like."

"I tried to make it look partly like a direwolf and partly like a hound. There are stories in the north of dogs running with wolves." She trailed off without saying more.

He could not help wondering what the stories were about. A dog and a wolf were not so different in many ways, unlike a dog and a lion which were nothing alike.

The ride passed pleasantly enough, but there was no sign of Nymeria, though a few smaller wolves appeared to them. Sandor was sorry for Sansa. He knew she cared for the beast—believed that the animal was somehow connected to her sister. He did not know if it was possible for such to happen, though he had heard stories of wargs and such in the North. It seemed so many strange things were happening in these times that anything could be.

All the trouble that Willow and Jeyne had gone to in order to make the party absolutely perfect had been worth it. The look on her face when he led her into the great hall and all the children shouted and clapped was worth all the needling from the girls.

It was not a celebration as grand as she was used to, as she deserved. But she smiled and beamed and waved throughout the night. He restricted himself to drinking only heavily watered wine. Sansa did not care for him being heavily intoxicated. She had taken to removing flagons from him when she felt he drank too much. He had found that her singing was more soothing than the wine had ever been. Her very presence was the most comfort he had ever known, and she gave him time every night. Every night, he knew he would be allowed to enjoy her by himself. Some nights they never spoke. She just played softly and sang for him and then they sat for a short time together, listening to the wind and waiting for the fire to die down.

It was getting late as the celebration wound down. Only two children were still awake in the hall with them, dancing around in circles and singing 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair.'

"Time for you two to be in bed," Jeyne said, coming in and taking the last two children to bed. "Good night."

Sansa nodded to her before taking Sandor's arm to walk toward their respective chambers.

"Thank you so much for the surprise. I very much enjoyed it."

"There is another surprise, but it can wait for the morning."

Sansa smiled as she pushed open the door to her sewing room. She went to the stool and took up her harp.

Sandor walked in heavily and took the largest chair that was Sansa's during the day when she chose to occupy her time in the room.

Sansa softly began to pluck the strings of the harp and hum softly.

Sandor leaned back, closing his eyes to savor her pretty voice and playing. The words were not that important. What mattered was that she was here, playing for him.

He could not have said for how long she played for him, but when she stopped plucking and allowed the strings to cease their movement on their own, he opened his eyes.

"Sandor, I love to dance."

He shifted a little.

"It would make my nameday perfect to have one dance. I have not danced since my wedding."

"I don't know how to dance, Little Bird." He held in his words that no woman had ever wished to dance with a monster. She was asking him to dance in the weird courtly method. "I thought the knight asks his lady for a dance."

She stiffened her back and lifted her chin with a stubborness.

"Then ask me."

Sandor held back the twitching of his lips. She was saying what she wanted without tiptoeing around it.

"Little Bird, would you like to dance?"

Sansa stood the harp carefully on the stool and stood. Keeping her back straight, she curtsied, drawing her skirts out to the sides. She offered a hand to him.

"I would."

He stood, taking her hand. She reached for his other hand and held it softly.

What dance was this? What dance could be done while he held her hands? He looked at her sparkling eyes. He watched a dance at a tourney once, and the partners had never touched. After the first time he watched the dance, he always left before dancing. No lady would ever have dressed to match him or wanted to dance with a dog—even if he was the champion of the tourney.

"This is a dance that I did with my brothers and father, a dance from the North. It can be a group dance or a two person dance."

Sandor looked down at her feet. He did not want to step on them.

She gently pulled on his hands, leading him in a slow circle and humming softly.

Quickly he learned the steady pattern her feet were following and gradually was able to look into her face. She smiled softly and took a dramatic step closer before stepping back. They had almost been touching. He could smell the soap she used when she washed her hair and feel the skirts swirl against his legs. She moved them slowly around the space that was clear enough for dancing.

"I saw my father and mother dancing this dance differently once. It was on the day my mother discovered she was pregnant with Bran. My mother loved to dance as much as I do."

Sandor swayed with the movement.

"He was holding her like this." Sansa stilled her movement, lowering his hands to her waist and placing hers on his shoulders. She looked like she had more to say as she began her rocking, twirling movements again.

This was a dance unlike any he had ever seen, and he was dancing it with the most beautiful woman in the world.

Sansa stopped her dancing, and he tightened his hold on her waist.

"Thank you for the dance, Little Bird." He pulled her a little closer, moving one hand from her waist to touch her face. Her fingers twisted in the fur of the cloak she had given him, tugging so slightly he wondered if he imagined it.

He leaned down toward her lips. No one was going to burst in on them. No one was here to judge them. She had kissed him every night since they arrived at the keep.

Sansa moved forward so their chests were touching. She tipped her cheek to rest on his shoulder and sighed.

"Sansa."

She pulled back to glance up at him. Her breathing was a little heavy from the light exertion of their dancing.

He leaned down and touched his forehead to hers. It would be nice to kiss her again.

"Sandor—I," she paused, running her fingers over the ties holding his cloak on his shoulders.

He ought to give her a proper nameday kiss on her forehead or cheek. She was married. Whether she had been playing with him or not, she could not be his while her Imp lived—unless she divorced. There was no way to do right by her, while her husband lived. She was not a lady to be with a man not her husband.

"San—"

Sandor cut her off with a soft kiss to each of her cheeks. He kept his lips soft and gentle against hers. Did she like his kisses? She had to want his kisses for some reason. No lady kissed a man every night before bed without caring about him. Why did she care?

He pulled back a moment later. Opening his eyes, he saw hers were still closed and her fingers were still holding his cloak.

"Sansa."

She opened her eyes, leaning in closer to him.

"Sandor."

He rested his cheek on top of her head. Her hair was soft against his unburnt cheek. She was not his—and could not be his as long as the Imp lived. She had to want him though, for some reason. Did it even matter why?

He withdrew a moment later. It felt too nice to have her so close. He could not have her for his—not yet. He saw what happened to the Kingslayer having to share what he loved. It was clear in the lines of his face, and he and Jaime Lannister were not entirely dissimilar. They loved where their love was impossible.

"Time for bed, Li—ady Sansa."

She looked up at him, her arms stretched out and her hands still holding the lapels of his cloak. Her hands dropped a moment later, and she curtsied.

"Yes, my Lord."

He offered her his arm. She took it, resting her cheek lightly on him as she played her fingers over his. They stopped when they reached the door to her room.

"Good night, Sansa."

"Good night, Sandor. I hope that we can dance again soon." She pulled him down and kissed his cheek softly.

"As you wish, Little Bird."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long. I had a busy week, and I am still unsure how I feel about it. I will do my best to get the next chapter posted sooner.


	44. Brienne VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deep rumbling noise that reminded her faintly of laughter and a flapping not unlike wings sounded from above.

The silence in which they had passed most of their travel had not been as heavy as Brienne expected when she left Clegane Keep with Ser Jaime. It had been more of a brooding thoughtfulness that consumed his countenance. She had not wanted to intrude upon his private thoughts, so she had remained silent except when necessary or Jaime began a conversation.

Thankfully, the Seven had spared them the trouble they had found their first journey to King's Landing the year previous. They had swung up along the Ocean Road and collected all the men Ser Jaime had sent back to Riverrun then left along the River Road toward the capital with the full host.

Since joining the main host, she had been largely ignored by everyone but Jaime. Many cast suspicious looks at them. It was fine with her. Being ignored was easier than being set upon by men whose sole motivation was a bet on who would have her maidenhead. It still made her blood boil when she thought about it.

She sat outside Jaime's tent. She was not sleeping well despite knowing that she had partially completed the task she had been set. Lady Sansa had sent her with Jaime. She said that Brienne also had the freedom to travel, and she needed someone with him to keep an eye on him. She had not told her what she wanted Jaime to do though. She only said that he might require her assistance.

She leaned back and looked up at the sky, resting beside the fire.

It wasn't long before she drifted into a half sleeping half wakened state. She was remembering the time that Lord Renly had visited Evenfall Hall. He had been so kind and thoughtful and good, the perfect gentleman, the perfect chivalrous knight. Her liege lord had not seemed to notice that she was not a beautiful, perfect lady. At some point during her dream, she noticed that Renly's dark hair had lightened to the color of spun gold, and his bright blue eyes had become emerald green.

She was unsure how long she rested staring at the sky when a strange noise startled her. She jerked to her feet and looked up.

The fire had died out some hours earlier. The moon had set, and a few rays of sunshine seemed to be lightening the eastern sky. She believed she smelled smoke in the air, a heavier smoke smell than earlier than the night before.

A deep rumbling noise that reminded her faintly of laughter and a flapping not unlike wings sounded from above. A large form that shimmered like gold swept high overhead and disappeared almost the moment that it appeared. A feeling of dread filled her for a moment. Could it be? She rubbed her eyes and stared after it. She sat back on the log with the sigh. She must have imagined it.

"Yes, I see it too. Absolutely fascinating."

Jaime had come out of his tent fully dressed and ready for the day. He was resplendent in his Kingsguard armor and long white cloak. He was such a handsome man. She wished in a way to have another sword fight with him. She had never fought someone of his skill. It was no mystery why he had been in the most elite group of swordsmen in Westeros.

"We call it the moon."

"I thought I saw something." She could not stop herself from glancing toward the north again.

"Maybe a star or comet?" Jaime offered. "Please join me for breakfast. We have some venison to go with the porridge."

Brienne nodded absently. She must have imagined it. Dragons went extinct hundreds of years ago. She had not seen a dragon. She must have been half asleep. Still, a dream about a dragon was infinitely superior to a dream about Biter.

"What is it that we will be doing in King's Landing?"

Suddenly, the name of the city filled her with a sense of foreboding. She shook her head. She had not seen a dragon. No one now living had. She had not been sure she believed the stories of dragons before she saw Harrenhal, but she was certain that she believed they had lived. Could they have returned to life, somehow been revived? There were stories of Targaryens doing immensely powerful and frightening things that she had heard as well. Who knew if they were true? She shook her head. The Targaryens were practically extinct.

Jaime moved closer to her as she spoke. He looked around to see if anyone might be listening.

"We are looking for the man who was Master of Coin who has commited sins against the whole Kingdom and all in the effort to destabilize the seven kingdoms and seize power. He is not going to be easy to find. Now, it's time for breakfast, and I do not want to talk about this more."

She ate her breakfast in a kind of quiet daze while everything was being packed up. They would arrive in King's Landing today after a brief stop at Stokeworth Castle.

The sun was directly overhead when they arrived at the main gates of Stokeworth. She had traveled near the rear of the procession today. She was still wondering why Sansa had sent her with Jaime. The snow was already well packed down in front by dozens of horses. But Brienne did take notice of a number of prints that indicated a party had left the castle recently.

She dismounted and followed the main party to the great hall of the castle. As soon as she entered, a servant handed her a cup of hot spiced wine. Jaime stood up in his place at the main table where a plump, woman with a pleased expression on her face held a baby.

"My Lady."

Brienne moved slowly forward.

"Lord Stokeworth is not home, but Lady Lollys is quite pleased that we are here."

Brienne nodded to the woman holding the baby.

Jaime had kind of an odd smile on his face as he looked at the baby.

"This is Tyrion Waters," he said, motioning to the baby. "I'm afraid we can not linger here long, my Lady. We simply wished to stop and have words with Lord Bronn."

"I wish you would. You are the finest knight, my Lord. It is an honor to have you here. I feel safer just knowing you are here."

"I am afraid I have urgent duties that call me to the Red Keep."

Jaime nodded to the soft looking woman.

"The queen's trial has taken place, my Lord."

Jaime turned quickly to look at the woman. His eyes betrayed his concern for only a moment. How could he not be concerned? She had been his sister and his lover, the mother of his children? He had admitted it. She was also his sister, his twin. She was probably the most important person in his life. He surely loved her as much as he loved anyone.

"She chose trial by combat, and her champion was triumphant."

"If you'll excuse me for a few moments, my Lady," Jaime said, bowing his head to Lady Lollys.

"Of course, my Lord."

Jaime left quickly with his cloak billowing behind him.

Brienne paused a moment, unsure of whether to go after him or give him a few minutes.

"Please excuse me for a moment, my Lady." Brienne said with the slightest of bows to the Lady of the castle.

She nodded and stroked the baby's thin hair.

Brienne strode quickly after Jaime.

"Lord Commander."

Jaime turned, "What can I do for you?"

"Are you well?"

"Just need to take a shit," Jaime said. His green eyes looked exhausted. "Want to join me?"

Brienne sighed and turned to walk away.

"Wait, my Lady—" Jaime called.

Brienne did not pause.

"Please. I apologize."

Brienne turned back to him.

"It's alright. You don't have to explain anything, Ser."

"Cersei sent me a raven while I was on the road, to pacify the Riverlands and help my Frey uncle and Aunt Genna. The place she sent me. She wanted me to come to her for a trial by combat."

Brienne watched his shoulders slump as he turned to look out the narrow castle window.

"I did not mean to intrude, Ser."

Jaime nodded.

"I just needed a moment to think through everything."

"I should return to Lady Lollys." Brienne said.

"I will return soon."

Brienne nodded. She turned back to go into the great hall. She needed to steal herself against what they were about to do. They were going into King's Landing to kidnap the man who had recently been made Lord Protector of the Vale and Lord Paramount of the Trident in addition to being given Harrenhal.

She went quickly to the seat that Jaime had earlier indicated as where he wished her to sit. It was to the right of where he was seated. She sipped some honey sweetened milk before helping herself to a bit of roast lamb and onions. It was refreshing after so long on the road.

After a few bites, she began to pay more attention to the conversation of Lady Stokeworth.

"We've heard strange tales coming from the Stormlands. That nice man from Thoros would probably be interested in them. They spoke of a dragon at Griffin's Roost. What a silly idea. Dragons are no longer alive."

Brienne turned to her. A dragon? That was not possible. Was she having some sort of strange dreams that allowed her to see parts of the future? Or had she truly seen a dragon? She was sure she had seen a large animal flying over head and heard a strange rumbling, and seen a strange glow.

It could not be a coincidence that she thought she saw one this morning and was now hearing about them. She would do well to send a raven to Sansa as soon as she was able. The most important thing was to be sure that Sansa was made aware of this. She did not know if she could trust a raven with this, but it was not as if there was much of a choice, really.

The rest of dinner passed in a haze of conversation about topics of no interest. Jaime had come back part way through. He had turned the conversation on light topics of no importance whatsoever. Jaime looked him over cautiously. He was so changed from the man back in the dungeon of Riverrun.

Brienne excused herself from the party before the dessert of apple cakes was brought in. She went quickly to the stables. She went to the wagon that carried cages of ravens after scribbling down a hasty note. After carefully attaching the note, she carried the cawing bird to the courtyard. She pitched it into the air and watched it flap away.

At least a message was on the way. There was little else she could do now for them. She was charged to help Ser Jaime, and that was what she would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of news. I am working on preparing an application for my master's, which includes a large written component. I will likely not be able to update for a while. I have not abandoned the story. It just has to take second place until Dec. 15 which is the due date for application materials, and I hope my mind is going to allow me to write what I need to write.


	45. Sansa XV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I will come back to you. Not even the Stranger will be able to stop me.”

Sansa sat in the godswood with the rolled up note tight in her grasp. She had not expected word from the pair she had sent out to bring Petyr Baelish to justice so soon. She was still unsure what she was going to do with him when he was brought to her presence. The only thing she did know was that she would not be able to believe anything he said. He had saved her life the night of Joffrey's murder after using her to help commit it.

She looked at the small weirwood that Sandor had brought here from the Isle of Faces. She knelt in front of it. It was a thoughtful present. There had been no weirwoods in King's Landing. Her father's gods could not protect him from what they could not see. His gods could see her and protect her though. She could feel some presence in the heart tree, as of someone she knew.

“Father—Father, I do not know if you can hear me. I do not know if this is the right way to pray to the Old Gods, but I need your help, their help. I may be close to having the man I know—I know to be responsible for your death more than any other, excepting Joffrey, and he is already dead.”

She sat back on her heels in the snow, remembering when she had gone to the godswood as a child and her father had tried to teach her of the Old Gods. She had told him she loved the seven and hidden from the queer red eyes of the tree that had been carved so long ago by the Children of the Forest.

“If I am soon to have the man who helped kill you, what am I to do with him? He has caused nothing but suffering to our family and everyone else whose life he has touched or ended. He killed Jon Arryn, Lysa Arryn, Joffrey, you, Ser Dontos, and who knows how many more. I think he intended to start the war by making us suspicious of each other. There is no depravity he would not commit.”

She lifted the small raven note and opened it.

_My Lady—_

The note caused shivers of anticipation as well as dread to creep up her spine. Was Lady Brienne speaking in riddles or in earnest truth with no levity? Or some strange combination of both. She had told the woman to report anything unusual. But this was beyond unusual; this was almost as strange as finding the direwolf pups in the snow had been. Could dragons have truly returned? Direwolves had not lived south of the wall till recently, and dragons had been dead for a century or more according to Maester Luwin.

Could she long be safe here? If the dragons meant the return of the Targaryens, what would they do to her? Her father had fought against them. Would the want to eliminate her as well? She and Arya were the only true Starks left. They would have no love for them. Why would they?

“Little Bird.”

Sansa jerked at the sound of the familiar voice. She stood and turned to the person addressing her.

“My Lord,” she said, bowing her head and curtsying to him.

“None of that kind of chirping. What news?”

Sansa held the small scroll out. It was too bizarre to say aloud, not to mention, it would do no good to startle any children who might be about listening. They had suffered enough fear without being put through worry over something that might be incorrect. She could think of no alternate explanations for what Lady Brienne reported that she had seen.

He reached out and cradled her hand gently as he took it. He stepped up close to her.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the smells of the forest that clung to him. He had been out hunting for the past several days.

“Did you find any game?” she asked, looking at his eyes.

“Aye, Little Bird. Venison is on the menu tonight.” His face remained impassive for the most part as he spoke and read the note. It turned stony toward the end. He reached out and pulled her close to his chest.

Sansa gasped, raising her hands to him. What was he doing? For a moment, she was reminded of when she saw a large dog guarding a large bone.

“Little Bird, if those 'Fire and Blood' shits are back, you are in danger. I thought I was imagining it when I saw something in the sky while I was out these past days.” He was looking toward the sky with a hand buried in her hair, twisting locks of her hair absently before moving his other hand to cradle her waist.

She leaned into him softly, knowing how it calmed him. For some reason, her touch had always had a strange effect upon him. It was quite empowering to see his expression rapidly change from savage strength to complete gentility. 

“What will we do if they are back? How will I be safe?”

“I will kill all those dragon shits if they even think of harming you.”

She could not help remembering the tales of how Ser Gregor had savagely murdered the youngest prince of the Targaryen line. She shifted up against him. If it was at all possible, she preferred to avoid most bloodshed. More death did not restore the living.

“But if they have dragons—Sandor, we must be wise. We can not wage a direct war against real dragons.” She reached for his burned cheek. He hated fire, hated and feared it. She would not ask him to fight against creatures that spewed fire.

“I will find a way to keep you safe if they come.”

But who would keep him safe?

“Oh, do come out,” Sansa called, seeing the young girl who had so recently arrived at the castle. “While you were gone, another young girl arrived.”

A somewhat smallish girl walked up to the heart tree. She wore a hooded cloak over her head, hiding her face, and a long thin sword hung at her waist.

“This is Lyanna. She indicated it was her name. I think she must have been shipwrecked. She does not speak much of the Westerosi language. I think it is Braavosi that she speaks. She seems to understand things well enough. She is a hard worker, and we are all rather fond of her.”

The small girl glared at Sandor. Her hand rested on the hilt of the bravo sword.

“Lyanna, this man is lord of the castle. He is a good man. He has saved my life many times. He would not allow harm to come to you or anyone here. He used to be different, but like everyone here, the war has changed him.”

The girl nodded. She spoke several sentences in rapid Braavosi before melting away into the forest.

Sandor squinted after her, almost as if he was suspicious.

“She is just a young girl, and Nymeria approves of her. The great she-wolf trotted next to her as she walked to the gate.”

Sansa reached for the edges of the cloak she had sewn for him. He wore it at all times when he was out and about, except when he was training. Nymeria would allow no danger to come at her. Sandor had refused to even leave the castle to go hunting until the wolf had arrived back.

“Where did she get that sword?”

“I don't know.” Sansa said, looking at him. What did it matter? It was a sword of the city from whence the girl had come. It was not a Westerosi great sword or anything.

He grunted.

“It may be necessary for you to go north before we planned, and if so we may be separated.”

Sansa felt her breath hitch. She would not like to be separated. She wanted Sandor to stay at her side. They were supposed to be close to each other.

“Sandor, I want you to stay with me.”

“We are both targets for Targaryens, Little Bird. Safer if we are not together.”

He dipped his fingers through her hair. Sansa moved her hand to touch his wrist, encouraging his hand to rest on the side of her neck.

“I will come back to you. Not even the Stranger will be able to stop me.”

“I know.” She tilted her head up.

“We shall consider the need to send you away only when it is the only option left. Currently, I think it best if we wait and see what happens.”

Sansa nodded, before leaning up against him. Some of the last words of her father came to her softly. She had been so heartbroken over the breaking off of her engagement to Joffrey. She had yelled at him, been in tears when she fled his presence. If he had known Sandor as she did, he surely would have considered him a suitable match for her. He was brave enough to come and offer to rescue her when he left the Lannisters. He was too gentle to ever lift his hand to do her real physical harm. He was strong enough to protect her from anyone who would harm her and to not do something rash to get them both killed. He was trying his best to be kinder with his words than he had been in the past, and even when his words had been rough—they had been said to put her on her guard—said to protect her. He was honest.

But she was married, had taken her vows before the Seven in the Sept of Baelor. What she wanted was not what she had. But she could still love Sandor and be good to him as she was able. Maybe Tyrion—maybe her dwarf husband had perished. It was not a wifely thought, but was it wrong to wish for a husband whom she could love and be loved by in return? She could not see how love could be wrong, and she would share her feelings with Sandor when the time was right. He might not say that he cared in such simple terms, but little things he did every day told her. And what were words anyway compared to actions?

She stepped back from his warm embrace reluctantly. Her hands remained curved around his powerful arms, resting on them.

“How should I travel safely, if I should have to leave?”

“That smith boy would go with you, and all those wolves that follow the giant wolf.”

Sansa shifted. The pack would surely be able to keep her safe. They were monstrously powerful as a group.

“You're cold, Sansa. Come inside.”

Sansa held his arm delicately in her hands, resting her cheek on it as they walked toward the keep. She wondered what he was thinking and where she could go, even in the North that would be truly safe. The Boltons were in charge up there. Would any northern lord of the black castles amidst the snow that would want to help her without using her? 

She looked up at Sandor, wishing that they could flee across the sea and find somewhere safe from all their enemies, and all the people who would use her. She was the heiress to Winterfell now.

“Little Bird, I have missed your nightly chirping these past days.”

“Little birds sing do not sing only at night. I am sure some music can be found in my sewing room, should you wish it.”

“I shall have to investigate that after attending to last of the butchering.”

“Of course,” Sansa said, releasing his arm as they reached the stairs that would take her toward her rooms. He would be coming by later, and they were ready to start a new song. She hoped he would like the song. “I hope you will find your songbird singing a song to your liking.”

His eyes flashed for a moment, and Sansa fancied she saw something of his old self in them. Had she gone too far? She dropped her eyes from his.

“I should be free to investigate when the sun passes through your sewing room window.” His finger tilted her chin up slowly so she was looking into his eyes. “Look at me.” He brushed his thumb over her lip.

She pressed her lips out against his thumb, staring into his gray eyes.

Sansa curtsied, and he inclined his head to her, leaning out just enough to kiss her forehead. A soft, unbidden sound escaped her throat as she leaned toward his hard mouth.

“Pretty birds with red feathers sing beautiful songs.” 

Sansa leaned against him, feeling her knees grow a little weak. She felt the breath leave her as he eased her back, sliding a hand down her arm to rest on the stone wall behind her. She leaned back against the wall, pressing her hands flat to it as if the cold could calm the heat.

Sandor turned and walked away.

She bit her lip. She closed her eyes for a moment before turning and going upstairs. She should be prepared to sing a lovely song.


	46. Jaime IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why are we going to the Stormlands?"

Jaime heaved a deep sigh. He urged Honor forward south toward Storm's End. He had barely arrived in the city before Cersei had sent him away again, had only had a few precious hours in the Red Keep and no rest. In a way, it was easier to not look at her. She had kept her head covered the entire time. He wondered if she looked more like him after having her hair shaved off. He never would have wished such upon her, and there was a time when he would have chopped the head off any one who raised a hand to her. But she deserved this punishment. She commited the crimes of which she was accused.

He had barely had a moment to see her before she was telling him of some insane idea about dragons and that he must go and determine the validity of the rumors. The death of Joffrey had all but destroyed what little stability she had. She always had a pernicious and tempestuous spirit. It had only magnified with the successive deaths of their father and now their uncle.

He had always laughed at Dead Ned's dour, dreary nature, and more dry words: Winter is Coming. But Starks had an irritating way of always being correct.

Cersei had been his dearest and closest companion. They had done so much to be together, and now all that was happening was that they were being drawn apart. He would gladly have given anything for her, but she could not give up her desires for him. She had been his dream and pretended he was hers when all she wanted was a pawn. The moment he lost his usefulness, she cast him aside like a stained and torn dress that could never be washed clean and resewn.

The ability to be who he had been was no longer possible. The loss of his hand had been difficult to bear. However, Cersei seemed to care naught for what he went through which had only augmented his changes he had been going through had likely been quite hard on her as well. She was used to him being her faithful, loyal soldier, that which she commanded. Her lust for power was perverse in that it was all she desired, but she had no notion of how to wield it. It was not her fault that she had not been taught as he had. Whether it was right or wrong, the different activities that they were taught and encouraged in, he could not say.

He glanced back at Brienne. Her father had indulged her. He knew that Ned Stark had indulged the little Stark girl as well in allowing her to learn swordplay.

"Ser Jaime."

"Is it right?" he asked, staring ahead without really seeing any of the King's forest through which they were almost passed.

"Is what right?"

Jaime's head dropped a little, his eyes dropping from their usual line of sight between his horse's ears to stare at his one hand as it held the reins and his other where it rested on his leg.

For a moment, he pondered spurring the horse to a gallop and just riding as fast and as far as he could without stopping or looking back. An escape from all this would be welcoming. If he stil possessedl his right hand, he would have slain Petyr Baelish when he saw that ambitious serpent coiled next to his sister. He had not even been able to speak ill of the man to her. Baelish was untouchable in his current place, and it seemed likely that Cersei might name him Hand of the King. Perhaps the curse of the Hand would fall on him as well, and for once, he would not be able to escape the death he deserved.

He did not want to think about how he bent the knee to his king, remembering Prince Rhaegar, knowing the secrets he kept. The last one he kept for Rhaegar, kept to the point that not even Cersei knew. He had intended to tell the man it pertained to when he saw him in Winterfell and spoke with him, but he kept his silence and mocked the young man's grim ways rather than saying what he should.

It was exactly the same with Tommen. He told his son of the need to speak seriously with him, then failed to say anything he meant to say. He had only been able to pet the soft blond curls when he was greeted with a warm embrace. Tommen had wrapped his arms around his waist and begged him not to leave. He promised the boy to come back as soon as he could. It was all he could do. He was just a little boy, a frightened little boy. Tommen also whispered that he was happy he had not come to Cersei's summon, as then they would both be dead, and he loved him.

"Ser?"

Jaime turned his head to look at her, feeling the weight of his golden hand more heavily. He was told what happened to Myrcella at the Keep. She was injured after Ser Aerys had died to protect her. He hoped to be able to go to her as soon as may be. She was a kind girl and would forgive his sins. She had always been loving to him. He remembered when he danced with her standing on his feet on her nameday back when she was eye level with his stomach. She laughed and smiled as he lifted her up and spun her around. She was the first child he could have an excuse to hold and pamper. She liked to hold his hand whenever they walked about the castle. Cersei had chastised him later for it, telling him that he must distance himself from the children to keep them safe and that Myrcella was no longer a little girl. He had said she was his princess, and Cersei reminded him what happened to the last two princesses in the Red Keep. He remembered the tears in her eyes when he had to refuse her the next time there was dancing, to celebrate the birth of Tommen.

"Ser Jaime?"

He looked at the sword at her waist. Lady Sansa had kept Oathkeeper, arming Clegane with it. Tommen had given him the sword that had been Joff's wedding present from Lord Tywin, and it now hung at her waist. Valyrian Steel might help a midling swordsman kill a better one, but it would not help a pidling swordsman. He would see that the sword got back to Sansa. She would want it.

"Is it right to teach girls to fight with words and boys with swords?" Women were far more cruel. They destroyed the ones they struck, while boys only killed them.

"My father—"

"My father didn't. I do not think Cersei ever really understood or forgave him for it. She has been made to feel helpless all her life, though I think few could stand up to my father. She is a fighter. She was not designed to be a comfort giver, though it was all she was trained to do."

He wished she would just go back to Casterly Rock, where she could be safe from all the insanity of King's Landing. It was not good, but even in the wake of her penance walk, she still clung to power. She was likely afraid to give it up. She had seen what happened when she gave others power over her. She was sold to a drunk who treated her as an object of value only for the alliance it provided, but not a woman with a heart. He treated his horse better than he treated his wife. She had slowly become a woman without a heart over sixteen years. He thought obeying her and showing her he loved her would help her be better.

"It is not her fault. The way she is." It was his. She had the spirit of a fighter. He had helped by always doing her bidding without question.

Brienne was quite quiet. She simply rode at his side at a fair distance, though still in sight of those behind them.

"Why are we going to the Stormlands?"

He had made the great wench uncomfortable.

"To investigate the rumors in the Stormlands. Mace Tyrell has supposedly surrendered to a young man who rides on the back of a dragon in return for a promise of safety for all his family. The Dornish have also pledged their allegiance to this boy. If any of this proves truth, we might all be in for more trouble than we have already endured."

The stories of the Targaryens when they conquered on their dragons were known. The truth of some claims was written over the melted and scorched stones that had once been Harrenhal. It lived in the stories that the Maesters wrote and taught.

They continued through the forest in silence for some hours. Jaime tried not to let his thoughts wander too far. It hurt to much to dwell.

If the wholeness of the rumor that was circulating through the city was true, that the known son of Rhaegar had survived, the Lannisters were finished. Rumors were flowing through the city like a river. He was on borrowed time. He had a duty to complete the task the Lady Wolf had set him. Yet, he was riding into the Stormlands.

A resounding roar echoed across the space around them, and the woods burst into flame.

The horses and wagons and the people burst to a panic as snow sublimated to steam, a rich fog forming around them. Before it did, an enormous black and red beast blocked what little sun there was.

Jaime gasped as he was thrown from his horse and the animal trumpeted a battle cry. Though afraid of the Stranger himself, the horse loyally remained in place. He slammed down in the mud. Moments later, he heard whooping and screaming.

He peered out toward the field just on the other side of the tree line behind which his train had been walking. He could hardly believe what he was seeing. Dothraki screamers with their curved swords were crossing the field.

Jaime swung up onto Honor's back. He had to hide. He could not outrun that. His only chance was to talk.

"No death! Surround them and take them. No one dies unless he raises his sword to you."

Jaime looked to the sound of the voice and felt his breath catch. Queen Rhaella? But she had died. They said she was dead, and this girl was far too young.

The monstrous red and black beast landed some hundred feet from him.

"Who are you?" the woman on the—dragon—demanded.

Jaime looked around at the party with him. He could see them being rounded up by the screamers but no one was being injured. He turned toward the woman mounted on the dragon. A shining white fur covered her head that appeared to be the skin of a lion. She wore leather beneath and held a sword in her hand.

Any ruse he armored himself with would easily be unmasked with little or no difficulty. His death was nothing now. No Targaryen would let him live.

"Who are you, and speak quickly."

"I will tell you only if you will hear my story before you judge my name and actions."

"Agreed. Now speak your name."

"Ser Jaime Lannister."


	47. Lyanna I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Mussels, Cockles, and Clams_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I do not say it enough, but a huge thank you to all my readers and reviewers. As always, I appreciate all feedback.

She slipped through the woods swift as a deer. Though her eyes remained on the pair, taking in the most likely direction they would go to the great keep, her mind wandered to some of what she had just heard. So much had she heard about this pair that it was difficult to fully know what to believe. She knew what a wolf saw and what the servants heard.

So the news of dragons had spread across Westeros. They were right to be afraid of the dragons. She saw them pass through Braavos.

First came the white and gold, with a young man astride it. His silver hair had a tinge of blue to it, and his eyes were the same dark purple as some of the poisons that she had seen the waive work with in the depths of the House of Black and White. Afterward came a dragon that was far larger and more fearsome, black and red just like the sigil of the old kings of Westeros. She had joined with the girl on the black and red dragon, asking passage to come with her to seek what she had lost as the young Queen was keen to do. The young woman had granted her request, and they had become friends of a sort. She had told her stories of what she had seen, how a good man was torn apart by lions. The young queen had promised her justice and that what was lost would be restored to her as she was taking back what she lost.

She moved to a doorway hidden in shadows where she could see the pair without being seen. She was not close enough to hear the conversation, but she could see the look on Lady Sansa's face. She could also see the devotion of a dog to his mistress in the giant brute escorting her.

She had not known who the Lord of the Castle was, though she had seen the Hound through the eyes of the girl who once had wolf-dreams. Sansa could not know what he had said, what he had intended to do to her that night he ran from his master. A girl of a noble house, thought by some to be his son, had spared his life. Apparently, it had given the slobbering beast a chance to find a new mistress. Sansa had to have changed greatly to see anything in someone so hideous. It was almost absurd.

Seven Hells!

She pulled her sword partially out as she saw the dog kiss the Lady's forehead. Arrogant presumption. Even worse, Lady leaned close to the ugly brute. How disgusting.

She kept a hand on the hilt of her dearest treasure. She could be quick. _Stick them with the pointy end_.

So apparently, there was truth to the stories she had heard circulating amongst the young children here. Apparently, the brutish man had killed men who tried to hurt the lady during a riot. Disemboweled one, stabbed one in the back, and slit the throat of another if the girls were to be believed. She had heard a similar story of a man saving a girl a long time ago when she had been a different girl with a different name. The man claimed he'd been given a song in payment. It also seemed that the pair had a bond of affection.

It was almost too much to stomach. The cold would help clear her head. She was accustomed to the cold. The cold was good. It reminded her of a warm home from long ago.

She moved out of the shadows and outside again. Smoke was rising from the forge. A face from a distant memory that seemed more a dream now was there. A boy in a bull's head helmet with black hair and blue eyes.

She went inside quiet as a shadow and sat on the pallet in the corner. Much of the days since she had arrived at this gods forsaken castle had been spent here watching the smith boy work.

When he turned to place a horse shoe in a bucket of water to cool it, he spotted her in the shadows. He always spotted her quickly.

"Hello, Lyanna."

A twinge of sadness and anger percolated through her. He did not know her. Had he ever known her? Had she lost herself so much in the House of Black and White? Had she become so adept a hider? Lady Sansa did not know her either, though she had yet to remove her hood and did much with the little she had to conceal herself. It was not safe to be more than Lyanna, but she had heard news in the temple of a Stark being married to the Bastard of Bolton. That was when she left the House of Black and White, boarded a ship bound for Oldtown.

" _Mussels, Cockles, and Clams_?"

"I'm glad you came to visit me too."

She ducked her head to hide her smile. He was such an idiot. He had been the one to find her riding through the woods on a sand steed at Nymeria's side, and he had offered to feed her and give her a place to get warm. He had been driving a wagon south from Lannisport. She could have been planning anything. She had decided to take him up on the offer and found more than she could have ever supposed she would find again in the castle he took her to. Only the man who gave her her sword as a parting present was needed to complete things.

"I'm making something for a friend of mine, a girl. A friend I lost, but I believe alive. Nothing could kill her. She is a survivor."

She kicked her legs a little.

"Can you tell me what you think?"

He walked over and brought out a pendant clasp for a cloak.

"Wolf?"

Gendry grinned.

"Yes, it is a wolf. A pendant for a lady's cloak or a lord's. I intend to set an opal in the mouth if Lady Sansa will agree to it. I found some here, but I must ask permission to use them."

She could see all the marks of the fine craftsmanship on the silver pendant. The little teeth were sharp in the snarling mouth. Claws were on each foot. The ears even had delicate etchings on them to be hair. Tufts curled around the face.

"Beautiful."

Gendry stepped back and reached for her hood.

Quick as a snake, she slipped away from his fingers, holding the pretty wolf in her hand cautiously. She slipped around behind a line of swords the smith had been asked to sharpen and repair.

"Stupid." The word was out before she could stop it.

"Arya?"

She tilted her head to the side in curiosity before placing the wolf on the table in front of her. A Valyrian steel blade with a curious red rippling effect in the metal captured her attention. She had never seen such.

"Lyanna." She told him, playing her fingers over the wolf, tracing its ears.

"That was the greatsword of Lord Eddard Stark, the father of Lady Sansa. Lord Tywin had the sword remade into two, one for the now dead King and the other for Ser Jaime Lannister."

She should have had Jaqen kill Tywin back when she was his cup-bearer in Harrenhal.

"I am to reforge it. I intend to remove the red by staining it to black, and of course, replace the lions with something else. I have not decided yet. I wanted it ready for the lord of the castle sooner. I have the hilt my Lady wished for ready, but I have never worked with Valyrian steel." He looked over the blade.

A surge of anger passed through her. She was the one fit to have such a sword. Clegane was just a dog with a new mistress. He probably hoped to mount a wolf. Maybe he thought that was what dogs did to wolves.

Her eyes moved to the wolf. Was Arya Stark the friend for whom the wolf had been made? The wolf was the sigil of House Stark. It was a fitting present for a lady of that house.

She nodded before lifting the first sword she had ever been given. She removed it from its sheath.

"Your sword needs sharpening, Lyanna. I can do so, and you might have it back in the morning."

She placed it on the table and picked up the wolf again. She rubbed her thumb on its head. Arya Stark had a pet direwolf.

Gendry was staring at her softly. He was a very large boy.

"Can I tell you a secret, Lyanna?"

She nodded, staring at the wolf.

"The girl I made that for, Arya. I left her to become a knight. I hoped if I was a knight that maybe she would see me differently. She was the most interesting girl I ever knew."

He shifted and grabbed his hammer.

"Best get back to work." He mumbled.

She shifted a little tempted to declare him stupid again. But she had other places to go, and the sun was likely to be in position soon for watching and listening. Her eyes lingered on the wolf before she shut the door.

Her feet led her swiftly on a circuit through the back of the castle and around to the sewing room where Lady Sansa had told her she was most welcome to be whenever the door was open, even though she seemed to care nothing for sewing.

The door of the room was closed when she arrived, and she could hear music from within. The sound of a woman singing. She could only hear the snatches of the verses as she sank down against the wall, 'Dog' and 'songbird' and 'lion' and 'rats' and 'bread.' The harp was so beautifully played, and the song was one Lyanna had not heard, and her sister sang them all.

She slipped away when she heard a bit about a songbird singing to the dog and the dog trying to save the bird from monsters.

She went to the top of the tower. At the top was a room with a small fireplace and a straw pallet for a bed. She had been offered rooms downstairs, but she had stayed here. Her window faced the direction of Lannisport. She closed her eyes enjoying the coldness on her face, mulling over everything.

Lady Sansa was truly fond of the creature. Once she had a wolf, now she had a dog. What did dogs do to wolves, even ones more like songbirds?

A burst of light moved across her face. She opened her eyes.

"Dragon!" She turned and fled down the stairs. "Dragon!"


	48. Brienne VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne fell to the side as the dragon lowered its massive head and took Jaime's cape in his mouth and lifted him.

A burst of dragon fire lit the sky. Dragons were fire made flesh. She remembered a Maester saying something like that to her once.

Despite the wind whipping around them violently, they were warm in the clutches of the giant dragon's claws.

"My brother would love this!"

She could barely keep her eyes open against the powerful wind washing over them. The constant up and down motion with each tremendous beat of the beast's wings was unsettling her stomach. The one positive was that she was comfortably warm with the dragon's toes wrapped around her.

"I can't say I feel the same. Rather sours my stomach." Jaime yelled.

"Perhaps you ought to close your mouth. Wouldn't want to soil yourself."

"Excellent advice."

It was some time later, difficult to know how much that they began a slow descent. Spreading beneath them, Brienne began to see hundreds of tents. They were gonig to be landing in the midst of another army. She thought that they left the army behind in the Stormlands. They had been flying west. Of course, it only made sense that the she would not leave her army completely behind her. The Queen had not confided all her plans to them. Why would she? They were not pledged to her, and even if they were, every soldier did not need to know the full plan. Who knew what was fully happening? But she seemed most keen to subdue the Westerlands before attacking King's Landing. It seemed quite strange.

They clanked and rolled a little as the dragon dropped them on the dry stone of the courtyard.

Jaime sat up first, clutching his stomach and wheezing a little.

"Fuck."

Brienne glanced up, feeling a moment of shock and awe at the sheer beauty and splendor of the castle around her. The walls of Casterly Rock loomed around of them. Brilliant banners flapped in the wind above each of the different towers. The tallest tower was flying the three headed dragon on black, a pure white flag below it, and below that the spear pierced sun. Other towers flew more banners, a vulture clutching a baby on a field of yellow, a crowned skull on black, black scorpions on red, purple with lemons, and too many more to count or be able to see. The entire forces of Dorne had to be here.

"Your Grace." Every man bent the knee as the queen dismounted from her dragon. She began walking calmly through the camp, nodding to certain people who passed. A man with short brown hair and serious face approached her quickly. She spoke to him in High Valyrian for a moment, and he remained at her side.

"Drogon, bring the knight."

Brienne fell to the side as the dragon lowered its massive head and took Jaime's cape in his mouth and lifted him. She rolled to her feet as they approached the thrown open gates of the castle.

"Ser Barristan," she called as she approached the doors. The man appeared from a corner tower and moved to her side with the speed and silence of a menacing shadow.

"Your Grace." He bowed his head.

"Raise your head, Ser. I have need of my counsel. See that they are brought to main hall for receiving. I have a prisoner. Put him down, Drogon, and wait here."

Ser Barristan raised his head.

"Kingslayer?"

"Ser Barristan." Daenerys said. Her voice firm.

"At once, Your Grace." Ser Barristan disappeared into the castle, though not without a reluctant look behind him at the man on the ground.

Jaime looked at Ser Barristan.

"Lord Commander," the older man said brusquely before walking swiftly away.

Brienne could feel the burn in from the bites to her cheek.

"I am sorry, Lord Commander," Jaime called to the older knight's back. "What happened was not what I wanted."

The man did not even slow his pace in response.

Brienne followed after her. She helped Jaime to his feet. She could not deny that he had killed the Mad King. He never bothered to deny it either. Could she let them kill him? Would he ask for trial by combat? She would stand for him if he did. What if Queen Daenerys chose Ser Barristan as her champion? His skills were legend along with those of other knights like Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Gerold Hightower. Did she have a chance against Barristan the Bold? She would die to defend Jaime for what he did. He had wanted to save all the people of the city, though he never told them.

"Your Grace, I would like to speak on behalf of the prisoner."

How had she already managed to take such a vast amount of lands? She had to have been in the Stormlands, Dorne, the Reach, and now the Westerlands.

"And you shall, as soon as my counsel is gathered. All the Lords are welcome to come and bear witness to the trial of a murderer."

Daenerys walked calmly through the castle, issuing orders to several servants. She stopped outside a set of enormous double doors, gilded with combatant golden lions, one to each door.

"Wait here until you are summoned."

Jaime looked over at her. He sank to his knees, resting his head in his hands. How long had it been since he had set foot in his home? What could he be feeling? Reduced to being summoned in a castle that could have been his, that he was born to inherit. What types of memories must he be feeling? His family was falling apart.

"Barristan Selmy is one of the finest knights I have ever known. My sweet sister and King Joffrey dismissed him from service because Robert—that damned fool—wanted to kill a boar with no help. I have heard the story. Joffrey wanted to blame someone because he never got the validation of that drunken shit. Now, he serves the Dragon Queen." He looked as though he longed to say more, but he shut his mouth instead. "We shall see."

"What will they do?"

"I dare say they intend to march on King's Landing. Suicide to go into those damn mountains in winter. Greater the suicide to travel into the North. Northern Lords know more of winter than we ever could dream. I do not think that, even with a dragon, there is a chance of conquering the north during their winter."

"What about the Riverlands?"

"The true Lord of the Riverlands is in this castle, and doubtless eager to help the woman who has ended his captivity. Lord Tully will call his banners, and the Riverlands will rise for Her Grace, no matter what they swore to me. They have no love for Lannisters. We've done nothing to deserve it. She came here because they need gold, and the Westerlands is where the gold is. Gold to pay her army." Jaime looked defeated.

It was not long before Ser Barristan reappeared with a few dozen lords and ladies following him into the audience room.

"Follow me, Kingslayer."

Jaime went silent. He walked with his head raised. It was likely his last few hours. Ever the proud Lion of Lannister. It was something that made him a truly beautiful man.

A grand throne set with silk pillows and carved with three towering dragon heads on the back stood with three chairs set to each side. One chair to the right of the throne was turned so the back faced them. A beautiful gold hand stood on the back of it. Only the queen was seated. Ser Barristan in his shining white cloak and two other men with swords stood at the foot of the dais upon which the chairs were placed.

"Kneel."

Jaime went to both his knees, bowing his head.

A group of lords from Dorne in colorful silks and one lord wearing red and blue checked clothes and a silver fish fastening a black cloak to his shoulders sat to one side of Her Grace.

"Tell us why we should spare an oathbreaker, a Kingslayer, a betrayer of family."

"Your Grace shouldn't," Jaime said. "But I beg Your Grace to listen to my story before you take my head, shove me over a cliff, have your dragon incinerate me, or whatever other death you find appropriate. I have committed more than enough sins to deserve your condemnation. Your mercy is at your discretion. I have some knowledge you should know before my death, secrets I have kept for and from queens and princes."

The silver haired young woman looked thoughtful at these statements.

What secrets could he be talking about? Surely, there could be no secret he kept greater and more terrible than what the Mad King had wished to do to the citizens of King's Landing.

"We are here to listen to whatever you have to say, Kingslayer."

Jaime paused a moment before he began to speak. He spoke of being a young man and when he was first invited to become a knight of the Kingsguard, how it was all he ever wanted to be able to stand with the greatest men in the seven kingdoms. What he found was not what he had believed was.

"Your Grace, Lord Commander Barristan Selmy can confirm some of what I am about to tell you, though not all."

Jaime began to speak of Queen Rhaella. He spoke of his shame in not having protected her from the king, how the king had savaged her the night before she was sent away to Dragonstone. He spoke of what he had been told by knights considered far greater than he could ever be considered, for breaking a vow to save tens of thousands.

"I rode beside her carriage all the way to the ship. What an apology could mean for not ending the brutal attack of King Aerys meant, I do not know. She listened quiet as you please before putting a hand on my shoulder and having me stand. Scars from where his nails ripped flesh from her cheeks were plainly evident. She forgave me and gave me two last orders, before she left the city with you in her belly and Viserys holding her hand. 'Don't let him kill the people.' and 'Help my grandson.' I gave her my word I would."

"And you failed her as well." Daenerys said, gripping the arms of her chair. Her voice was soft as a flame just beginning to light the tinder surrounding it.

"No, Your Grace."

The queen rose to her feet and stepped forward to the edge of the dais. Ser Barristan moved slightly to the side to be sure that her line of sight was not impeded.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean your nephews live to my knowledge, Your Grace."

Ser Barristan's jaw dropped as he stared at them. Brienne turned a similar look on Jaime.

Daenerys crossed her arms under her breasts. All the men in the chairs facing her were looking at her in complete silence.

Brienne looked over at Jaime. Was it possible? It was said that Knights of the Kingsguard held all the secrets of the Kingdom. Would Jaime have saved them? How could he have saved them, protected them.

"Where are they?"

"Prince Aegon, I do not know. I told the eunuch of a boy who looked enough like him that could replace the prince. He sent the boy to safety. Somewhere in Essos probably. I never asked about him again. The Red Keep is no place to talk of secrets. The other—" Jaime choked a bit on his words. "The other prince I believe is at the Wall in the North. I can not prove he is Rhaegar's son, but I believe he is. I watched the boy. He looks just like Rhaegar as he wields a sword. I doubt the boy even knows. He was raised in Winterfell by Lord Stark. If Robert had known his identity, he would have killed him. I do not know with complete certainty, and with Lord Stark dead, there is only one man who knows the truth."

"Who knows the truth?"

"Lord Reed of Graywater Watch. He is the only man living who was at the Tower of Joy where Rhaegar hid Lady Lyanna while she was pregnant. The others are all dead now."

"Ser Barristan?"

Selmy was staring at Jaime as if he had never properly seen a man before. How could he have done this? He allowed children to live who might one day rise against his own family.

"I do not know how much any of this can be trusted, and the Reeds' castle is in the middle of a bog that only the crannogmen know how to reach. But there is enough there that I know something about to make it worth investigating if you wish for nephews."

"I am sure Drogon can help me overcome any obstacle in reaching a castle in a marsh." Daenerys returned to her seat. She looked thoughtful as she looked at Jaime. "You did nothing for my niece or my brother's wife though?"

"I thought that they would be allowed to live. I felt Elia and her daughter would be sent to Dorne, back to her family. It was only the male children I thought could be in danger."

The old knight bowed his head.

"Can you prove that my father, King Aerys, wished to use wildfyre to incinerate King's Landing?"

"I have no proof, Your Grace. I know because I was there, and I saw the pyromancers filling in the positions around him, including that of hand of the king."

A soft voice from the backwards turned chair spoke. The queen turned her attention to the speaker, though it was likely that only the people on the dais could hear the sentiments being expressed.

"You are certain? Well, it seems you have an unlikely ally, Ser. My Hand has confirmed his belief and knowledge of what you have shared with me about this particular statement."

Her Hand? Brienne strained to try to determine who it was seated in the chair. Surely, the man would not risk lying to the dragon queen, but who could be certain of what the last Targaryen King had fermented in his moments of greatest madness but his Kingsguard, most of whom were dead?

"I believe judgment shall have to be reserved. For the time being, you are my captive. You will be well treated so long as you do not cause trouble. You are to consider yourself in the charge of my Hand who has agreed to take responsibility for you. You will be shown to his tower."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Jaime was led away from the room by two of the men with swords. As he was escorted out, a servant with a hood covering their face entered the room and moved into the shadows at the back of the room.

"Lady Brienne, a moment please."

Brienne bent a knee to the woman.

"You are a fine warrior. I can use a woman like you to fight by my side. I ask you to swear your allegiance to me."

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but I am already set a task by the one whom I serve. Honor demands that I perform it if I am able."

"And who is it that you serve?"

"The daughter of a great lady I swore myself to long ago. Her name is Lady Sansa."

"Sansa who?" a voice from the opposite turned chair demanded. The sound of feet hitting the floor startled Brienne.

A short man with blonde hair hair, mismatched eyes, and a chunk missing from his nose moved around to the front of the dais.

"Sansa who?" the Lord Hand of the Dragon Queen repeated. His stubby arms crossed his chest, and his black eye turned on her. "Where is my young wife?"


	49. Sandor XVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had heard some of the little girls giggling about how Lady Sansa was going to sing to him, and how romantic it was. For some reason, the girls all seemed to see some silly knight and his lady.

The little bird had just finished her song. She was so perfect. She had made a song of them, but it was honest. The dog had not instantly saved her from the cruelty of the lion. But in her song, the dog wished it, just as he had when he saw how sweet and perfect she was. He did not understand how she could be that way, so kind to a dog. It was time for them to be going down to the feast. 

“Little Bird.”

Sansa turned to him after placing her harp in its place. She rubbed her lips together.

“Nice song.”

“It is not complete yet, my Lord.”

He motioned to her to come to him. She came quickly across the floor and was about to take to her knees in front of them when he caught her and stood, reversing them. He helped her to sit before kneeling before her, cradling her hands in his.

“Sandor?”

In response, he turned her hands palms up and kissed the centers of them. He pressed them to his cheeks for a moment, savoring the contact and how her fingers brushed his cheeks. He was so ugly, and she was so beautiful. Why did she waste her time with him?

How would this song end? Was she waiting to write the ending? What ending did she want? He would happily spend his life slobbering after her and serving her every whim. Her hands slid back into his hair, and may all the gods help him. He leaned into her hands just like an obedient dog.

“My favorite is when she chirps, and he gets his snarl back, saving her from the monster who locked her away on top of a mountain.” She shifted forward so her knees opened on either side of him. 

Gods! Did she know the ideas that gave a man?

A soft knock interrupted them. 

Sandor growled, rising to his feet. What now? The children knew not to disturb them when the door was locked. He had heard some of the little girls giggling about how Lady Sansa was going to sing to him, and how romantic it was. For some reason, the girls all seemed to see some silly knight and his lady.

“What?”

The Maester dropped to his knees. 

“Forgive me, my Lord. But there has been a raven from Casterly Rock.”

“Give it to me.”

The note was produced. 

“What does it say?” the soft voice behind him peeped.

“Her Grace, Queen Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Shackles, and Mother of Dragons has taken Casterly Rock and will be marching against King's Landing and all those who oppose her. Those who wish to serve her will be spared, those who fight against her will be shown no mercy. She calls on all the Westerland Lords to join her or burn.” Sandor felt his breath catch. 

“DRAGON!”

The young girl who had arrived during his hunting trip, Lyanna, she had called herself. Lyanna. Unusual choice for a name, one associated directly with Starks and rebellion in the past. Did she think he was stupid? Her name was not a Braavosi name that was certain.

“Dragon!”

“Prepare to leave, Sansa. Go get your cloak and the few small trinkets you would take with you.”

“Sandor.” She put her hand on his arm.

“Now, Little Bird. I want you away from the dragon. We do not know if she means any harm to you.”

“Sandor, I want to stay with you.” Her voice was strong and steady, but she would not convince him that was a good idea. She could not stay here.

“I can not defend you from an army and a dragon, and who knows what else might have come with her? Now get ready to ride, Little Bird.” He cupped both of her cheeks. She was the source of his happiness. He rested his forehead against hers as his thumbs brushed the tears away.

She pulled him down quickly and kissed his cheeks, tracing his face with her hands before rushing away. She had a brother that she could go to. She said something to him about her father's bastard being Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Surely there were Northern lords who would take the side of the daughter of Eddard Stark over the Dreadfort flayed fucks. 

He reached out and gripped the other girl.

“Wolf bitch?”

“ _Mussels, cockles, and clams?_ ”

“Cut the shit, girl. I know who you are.”

“Hound.” She finally bit out. 

That was more like it. He knew her, and she knew him. There was no need for this shit. He could not help remembering his words to her. _So the wolf bitch wants to kill the pretty bird._

“Keep her safe. Take her to that brother of yours that lives. Ride as fast and as far as you can. Your sister loves you, speaks of finding you every day and telling you how she wishes for her sister. She is not the girl that you knew, and you are not the girl she knew. You need her, and she needs you.”

The wolf bitch nodded before turning.

“Can two ride that beast of yours?”

She nodded.

“You have a map in your head?”

She nodded.

“The smith boy rides with you as well. He is strong and capable. He also carried part of your father's sword.”

She nodded and moved away.

Sandor raced through the castle as fast as his sore leg allowed, barking orders. He would ride out for Casterly Rock in the morning after he could be certain that Sansa was safely on her way. Hopefully the wall was far enough for her to be safe. She was a smart girl. She would know what to do. Her brother would be able to help her. Her sister would be with her.

If only they could all go, but there was no way they could all travel so quickly. Sansa would have to go with the smith boy and the girl with the sword. He knew her, though he did not tell Sansa. She needed to know her sister for herself. It was not his place to reveal Arya to Sansa, though he wished to tell her how he knew she was safe.

After seeing that the horse was prepared and the wolf waiting in the courtyard, he moved back inside and climbed the steps, skipping every other one in his haste. He thrust the door of the Little Bird's bedchamber open.

She moved to him, pressing herself to his chest. She was dressed in several layers of dresses and had her fur cloak over her shoulders. Her arms wrapped up around his neck, hiding her face in his chest.

“Sandor, what's happening? Where do I go?”

Sandor gripped her arm. She held a thick fur blanket as he took her hand and led her out the door.

“North, Little Bird.” Plenty of those queer northern gods to protect her there. Surely some of the Lords of the North would be willing to help her. Only the Boltons had survived that bloody wedding. There had to be resentment there. No reason for her to know how far she would have to go from him. She would be upset. He did not want to part from her with her in tears again.

“Winterfell is destroyed. The Boltons rule. Where will I go?”

“You know your father's vassals. You know where to go.”

They entered the courtyard of the castle, and its main gates were thrown open. Nymeria was pacing and growling. Outside the gates the other wolves threw their heads back and howled.

“Sandor.” She gripped his arm. Tears were pouring down her cheeks. He lifted her onto the back of the horse sized wolf. She held his cloak pinched in her fingers. He brushed the tears away. 

"Sansa, it will be okay.

The sand steed stood calm and collected several feet from the wolf.

“SMITH!”

Gendry appeared moments later. The sword Oathkeeper was slung across his shoulders. With not so much as a word, he swung onto the horse.

“Sandor,” Sansa tried to grip him. “Sandor.”

He pulled free as gently as he could. Where was the wolf bitch that came in screaming about the dragon? He stormed into the castle and saw her hoisting a bag of grain for the horses on her shoulder.

“Time to go, wolf bitch.”

She did not so much as blink at the insult. She used to rage at him. She seemed to have learned some control since he first traveled with her.

They moved to the courtyard, and Sandor took the sack of grain, securing on the back of the sand steed.

“Stupid,” the wolf bitch declared, pointing at the Smith.

“That's as maybe.” Sandor growled. “But he is going with you.”

“Stupid.”

“My name is Gendry. Gendry.”

The girl pointed to the sand steed. “Ride wolf.” She swung up on the sand steed, taking the reins and sliding her feet into the stirrups.

Gendry moved to the wolf cautiously. Nymeria pulled her lips back. The sand steed reared and kicked out its front legs. Nymeria quieted, allowing the smith to climb on her back behind Sansa. He wrapped his arms around her securely.

“I will come to you as soon as I can, my Lady.”

Sansa gripped his cloak again. All that mattered was making sure she was safe. Nothing else mattered. As long as she was safe. The rest of the world could go to the all the seven hells as long as she remained alive and safe.

Sansa's lips trembled as she dug her fingers into the fabric hanging from his shoulders.

“I will come to you as soon as I can.”

She leaned toward him, pulling him close. She pressed her lips to his softly.

He pulled back, leaning so their foreheads touched.

“You will be safe where you are going. Trust the boy and this girl. I'll see you soon. The Stranger himself could not stop me, and your father's gods will see you where you are going, just as they have seen you here.”

She nodded, even as tears formed in her eyes.

“You must fly, Little Bird.”

“I love you.”

Sandor jerked a little at the words. He moved his hands to her cheeks. The tears had stopped, and she pressed her lips to his again with a soft noise of pleasure and sadness.

“I love you, Sandor.”

He pulled her closer for a minute, shoving his fingers into her hair. She would survive. The Stranger could not have her. He would go to the depths of all seven hells to bring her back. He would destroy anything that hurt her.

“I will be with you soon, my Lady. Now, go.”

Nymeria leaped to a run, leaving the castle with a burst of speed. The wolves collected around them, and they sped north. 

There was little that could be done to defend this castle against an aerial assault. The dragon would burn them all. It would be best to try to go and swear fealty to the dragon at Casterly Rock as she had called all Westerland lords to do. 

Sandor moved as swiftly as he was able up to the top of the gate tower. He watched and listened till he could no longer hear the howling of the wolves. He would depart in the morning to go to pledge himself to Queen of the Never Ending Titles.


	50. Jaime V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They go to ships."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to all readers and reviewers.

Jaime paced the spacious set of rooms to which he had been shown. How could the Queen's Hand have known anything about what he had said? Honestly, at this point it did not matter. What was important was that he said he did, and he had spoken up for him.

He stared around the rooms, trying not to think about how these rooms were the ones he had shared with Cersei when they were younger. The bed was the one where they had been caught by the maid and their mother had told them that they must never do such a thing again or she would have to tell their father.

He went over to the corner and slid down, leaning his back against it. He would rather stay in the bowels of the castle, in the dungeons or the cave cells than these rooms. Just thinking about it all made him ache. He should have listened to his mother, even though he could barely remember her. She had been beautiful and kind.

The room now serving as the Throne Room was where he had betrayed his brother. He had not known his father intended to abuse the girl so cruelly. He thought his brother would just be divorced and the girl cast out. He remembered with a moment of horror the smile that had crossed her face when she had been brought in and seen Tyrion. She had thought herself saved, never knowing that he had already been told such lies by the only family he trusted that even if Tyrion forgave her—Lord Tywin would never accept her.

Everything was destroyed. Cersei was going to be killed. Tommen was going to die. Myrcella might already be dead for all he knew.

His brother wanted to hurt him so badly for what he did. He even lied about killing Jaime's son, his nephew, the monster Cersei had raised in her image. But he had not lied about Cersei, and that truth had shattered him. It had been true. He knew it. How many men had she fucked? He was one of hundreds.

A sob escaped him as he tipped his head to his knees.

At least some of the secrets he had so long guarded were shared. Hopefully, the dragon queen would not want to harm her family. Hopefully, her mother's request would touch some part of her. Hopefully, the boys were alive and well. He owed one an apology.

The door opened softly, and he ignored it. Was he doomed to never be able to complete a task that could restore his honor? Was his honor truly shit?

"A Lannister does not sit in a corner weeping and feeling sorry for himself. He gets up and gets it done."

Jaime leaned his head against the cool stone wall. He really did not need to hear any of the delightful advice his father had given him growing up. The voice of the Hand of the Queen was familiar to him, but it could not be.

The Hand of the Queen, whoever he was went silent. Jaime could hear him walking around. The sound of liquid sloshing in a cup was the only sound in the room. A moment later, a small hand took his left hand and pressed the cup into his hand.

Jaime looked down and saw his broken reflection in the trembling liquid.

"I have found wine is remarkably calming when one's life is shattered."

He looked to the speaker. Tears filled his eyes when he saw Tyrion. The last he saw him, his brother cursed him and told him truth and lies intermingled.

"Brother, why do you spare me? For your own amusement?"

"You're my brother, Jaime. Why did I send those men to aid your escape from your cell in Riverrun?"

"That was before you knew the truth." Jaime turned his eyes away. He still loved his brother. His brother was right to hate him though. "I did not know what Father intended to do to Tysha."

Tyrion was quiet for a moment. He took a drink of wine from his cup and remained standing in front of Jaime, looking him mostly in the face.

"Where do whores go?"

"What?" Jaime tried to take a sip of the wine and choked for his trouble. Why had his brother spared him? His betrayal of Tyrion was the worst he ever committed. He ruined his brother's brief span of happiness. He remembered visiting the newlyweds in the hovel that was his brother's bride's home. He had confessed the location to his father when he was questioned.

"An answer to a question."

"What was the question?"

"Where did Tysha go?" Tyrion had already drained a cup. "Father said 'Wherever whores go.' Then I shot him with the crossbow.

Jaime shifted uncomfortably. Lord Tywin had set him a task after he paid her for her service to the men in service to the Rock. Should he tell Tyrion?

"He said you would thank me for what I did."

"Where do whores go?" Tyrion asked, turning and looking at him with his eyes brightened. "She loved me. I should have killed him long before I did for doing that to Tysha."

Jaime felt sickness in his stomach. He wished he could wretch it all up and be rid of all the badness.

"They go to ships."

"Ships?"

"Ships." Jaime said. She could be anywhere now. Who knew? She had sailed so long ago.

"Ships to where?"

"I don't know. Please, Tyrion. I need to talk to you."

Tyrion sat down.

"Don't ask for Cersei to be spared. I am not going to speak to Her Grace about mercy for the woman sitting in her chair, the woman who has spent her life making mine as miserable as possible. If she had a heart, I could have loved her. I would have loved her if she had shown me even the tiniest shred of compassion and dignity. I only did not kill her because I know you love her."

"I know, Tyrion. I meant about your wife, your nephew, the person who killed Joffrey. I know it wasn't you. I never should have asked—I know you would not do anything to hurt me. I just feel so lost. I do not know what to believe or know anymore."

"What about Tysha? Who killed Joffrey?"

"Not Tysha. Sansa."

"So she lives?" Tyrion took another big gulp of wine. "She is my punishment for how I let Tysha be treated."

"She lives. She was kidnapped from King's Landing the night of the wedding."

"Sansa hates me. I might as well release her to be a Stark again. It is not her fault. I am ugly and a Lannister. She will never love a Lannister. They betrayed her too often. There was no way to get through to her. I tried to be kind and make her smile. She kept everything to herself. I wanted her to be happy, to see I was not going to hurt her."

Jaime shifted, remembering the cold girl he had met, the girl who asked for Petyr Baelish to be brought to her for judgement.

"She called me her brother when she saved my life from Lady Stoneheart. She had a task for me. She told me everything she knows about it. Said it was as much a matter of justice as Lannisters paying debts."

Jaime shifted and moved to sit close to Tyrion. He had to have his brother back. He had to tell him everything. He began to tell Tyrion almost everything he knew about Sansa and what had happened and how Petyr Baelish had set him up to take the fall for the murder of Joffrey.

Tyrion listened quietly to the story. His eyes were cold and terrifyingly blank as he heard the tale.

"And all of what you told Her Grace of her nephews is true?"

"To my knowledge, yes. I can not be certain of the Bastard of Winterfell. But the boy is very like Rhaegar as I said. Had Ser Barristan met him, he would have seen the resemblance in nature as well."

"Why did you help them live?"

"I had failed the queen. How could I deny her last request? It seemed a simple enough thing at the time. Send the one by Elia to Dorne and the other North. Stark is not one to kill children. I knew that the moment I saw him seeing the children in the Throne Room."

"Well, it may save your life. That and my speaking for truth about King's Landing."

Jaime nodded.

"Will you forgive me, Brother?"

Tyrion stared at him. His eyes were sad, and he was looking at a picture of a ship with a golden lion on the sail.

"Will you help me find where whores go?"

"Will you help me save my children?"


	51. Lyanna II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is a floating castle to a dragon?”

Lyanna moved along the wall quietly, carrying a tray with a golden cup of Dornish sour on it. The Queen had just dismissed her counsel, claiming a need for a bit of peace. She watched the little dwarf toddle off with careful, suspicious eyes. If he would not divorce Lady Sansa, other measures might have to be taken to free her. Only the Lord Commander of the Queensguard remained and herself.

“Your Grace.” She stepped forward and lowered her head.

“How good to see you. Do come sit with me. I thought you were lost.”

She moved up and sat on the steps calmly. Ser Barristan's eyes were locked on her. She smiled as she lowered her hood. 

He did not really remember her. He had not seen much of her in the Red Keep. But she had watched him train in the yard on some occasions. Her father always said it was important to watch the best and learn from them.

“There is nothing lost that can not be found if sought.” It was the verse of some silly song that a girl with red hair sang in her youth in a castle surrounded by snow.

“As you say. Perhaps you have heard of the new guest I have here.”

“A girl saw something of him as she came in. One of the many Kingslayers who is still alive. The Seven Kingdoms have suffered the loss of many kings in the past several years.”

Daenerys said nothing for a few moments. She just looked her over silently.

"Only one legitimate king of the seven kingdoms has died recently." She said. Her voice was like steel as she spoke.

"A girl might say--depends what a queen means by the word legitimate."

Daenerys jerked a little and glared at her, though kept her temper.

"A stag may have dragon blood. A wolf may be from a line of kings more ancient than any other." 

Daenerys breathed out a heavy sigh, looking her over.

“What do you know of the happenings of the Seven Kingdoms?”

“A girl has been a seeker of information for a time. A girl knows little and much, depending on how one looks at it.”

“Always with the riddles." Daenerys paused a moment, taking a deep breath. "I have a task for you.”

“A girl already has a task.”

“You do, but since you are traveling to the North, I was hoping you might make a stop at a castle I have heard of called Greywater Watch. The Lord of it, if he lives, has valuable information about someone I should care to know.”

“Lord Howland Reed of the Neck. A girl knows not the location of this castle. It floats through the bog, Southron say.” She smiled. She remembered hunting in the bogs and seeing eyes watching her.

“What is a floating castle to a dragon?”

Lyanna raised a brow. Since when did a dragon obey her commands.

“I can carry you by way of Drogon as far north as the Neck in very little time.”

“What would a queen have of Lord Reed's knowledge?”

“The Kingslayer tells me—” Daenerys stood up and moved down the steps, taking the cup of sour wine. “That there was a boy in Winterfell who might be my nephew.”

Lyanna fought down her reaction. A Targaryen had been in Winterfell. That was impossible. She would have known. No such secret like that could have ever been kept. The guards of any castle would have gossiped.

“He claims the boy would have been taken back at the end of the Usurper's Rebellion. A Battle where three Kingsguard knights lost their lives at a place called 'The Tower of Joy.'”

“A girl knows something of a boy brought back after the Rebellion.”

Daenerys spun to her. Her purple eyes flashed brightly.

“Tell me.”

Lyanna pondered a moment. Best be brief. What would the queen do to her nephew? Could Jon be the Dragon Queen's nephew? Her father was not a traitor. She knew this in her heart. He may have been beheaded by Joffrey for some petty revenge after declaring it to be so, but it wasn't. Her father was not a traitor in his heart. She heard the stories of the cuckolded drunk king.

“A bastard boy, now Lord Snow.”

Daenerys shifted.

“I see. Is there any reason to believe the boy is not whom he would appear?”

“A girl does not understand.” If they were suggesting her father lied, she would not have believed it until he said he betrayed Joffrey. Joffrey would surely have harmed Sansa had her father not said as he said. He would protect them no matter what happened. The people who killed him would pay for what they did. Some were already gone, but it was almost certain that some remained.

“Neither do I. The Kingslayer says it would have been a secret. Ser Barristan?”

The older man turned to face them.

“Was the woman my brother ran away with, Lyanna Stark—did she bear him a child?”

“I helped them run, Your Grace. It is not impossible.”

“Kingsguard, Queensguard see all and say nothing.” Lyanna said,breathing out a sigh.

Ser Barristan nodded his head.

“Why don't you go rest, and join me in the morning? We will wait two weeks here for the Riverlords and Western Lords to come swear their fealty. I want you here with me.”

Lyanna nodded. She could watch the others through the wolves.

“A girl will be in the high tower.”

She bowed her head to the Queen and retreated from the room, leaving the tray on the steps. She moved through the shadows to the top of the castle. She climbed out onto the roof, scaling it cautiously. She gripped the pole from which the banners were flying.

She looked toward the north where a brilliant white moon illuminated all the hills and copses of trees. The light was even more magnified from bouncing off all the snow. She could even see the frozen outlines of a few streams, and if she turned around she could see the outline of Lannisport. She let her head fall back to look at the few stars visible with the brightness of the moon. From deep in her belly, she let a howl rise.

“Awoooooooo.”

She held the note long and loud. Moments later a howl answered her. She slid down the roof upon hearing the chorus of howls and caught the edge to swing down and enter the tower. She would stay here where she could hear and be heard. All was well. They were safe on their way despite her abandoning them for the moment. She would be with them again soon.

She remembered a man with deep gray eyes telling her once that a pack survives the winter when a lone wolf dies. What he had not said was that sometimes wolves had to split apart for times when hunting in treacherous conditions to catch their prey.


	52. Sandor XVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He let the bitch's mother die; there was nothing he could have accomplished by going so she had let him live so she could let something he cared for die.

Sandor breathed out a heavy sigh the next morning as he stood next to Stranger in the courtyard. He stroked the courser's neck. He had not slept much. The last words the little bird peeped to him before she sped away replayed over and over in his mind.

"Take care of the children, Willow. I may be gone for a while."

"Yes, my Lord."

He had become somewhat accustomed to the title he had once so despised. It was easier to not correct the small folk of the castle. He was barely more than one of the small folk. Second son of an upstart house.

"I will do my best. This dragon queen may kill me for who I am. I hope no harm will come to any of you through the association."

"If it does, it does. We would rather perish for knowing you, than live without knowing you. You have been good to us. Perhaps I could go with you and explain to this queen—"

"No. You need to care for the children."

"As you say."

He climbed aboard Stranger. The last time he had gone to Casterly Rock he had been a young boy, and he had left in the late evening on foot. He wanted to live and learn and become strong enough to kill his brother. Nothing else had mattered. Now he had Sansa. He would live to return to Sansa.

It was at least a half day's hard ride if he took the short cut through the hills. Best he not delay at all. He squeezed gently with legs, and Stranger tossed his head lightly as he moved to a canter. This was for Sansa. He thought about her song. He would know the ending of it one day.

The sun was high in the sky when the walls of the greatest castle of the Westerlands came into view. He could see the thrice damned Dornish banners waving. Of course, they would declare for the Targaryens. The Riverlands would likely come running to the Dragon Queen when they heard that she held Lord Tully.

He shifted, making sure that his hood was pulled up enough to hide his face. Who knew what the Queen's advisors might have told her? The Dornish watched him with passing interest as he approached the open gates. Stranger pitched his head and stomped as he was pulled to a stop.

"State your business."

"Here to swear allegiance to Her Grace."

The guards gave him a suspicious look.

"What is your name, my Lord?"

"Something to share with the Queen, not one of her lackeys."

The man made a move toward him.

"This man speaks truly. I will escort him to Her Grace."

Sandor looked up at the speaker. Ser Barristan Selmy. The man whose place he had taken on the Kingsguard. He did not ask Joffrey for the place. There was little he could do to to change any decision the boy made.

"Were you not also ordered to bring all men who were capable of fighting for Her Grace?" the knight asked as they went into the castle.

"Only one man in my castle."

The knight said nothing further as he led Sandor into the main reception room.

At the other end of the room on a raised dais sat a young woman with shoulder length silver hair. She looked up as they entered.

"Ser Barristan."

Sandor looked her over. She did not look like much of a conqueror, and he had not seen any indication of a dragon outside. Not that he was disappointed by that. He wanted nothing to do with such a creature if it existed.

"This man has come to pledge himself to your cause, Your Grace."

She nodded, lifting a hand to silence the group around her.

Sandor took note of them, recognizing the majority. There was an empty chair to her right, a chair with a golden hand on the back of it.

"Remove your cowl, Ser."

Not a Ser. He closed his eyes to hold in his irritation. He had no friends in this room as it was.

He lifted his hands and lowered the cowl after kneeling to the little female. This was to protect Sansa and the children that she had him rescue. It was all for Sansa. Sansa was riding north away from danger. She would be safe.

"Hound."

Sandor looked up at the queen.

"I have come to swear allegiance to your cause, Your Grace."

Ser Barristan stood with his hand on his sword that was partially unsheathed.

"Who is this man?" Daenerys asked, rising to her feet.

"The Hound. A very dangerous man. His brother killed Princess Elia and her son and daughter."

The silver haired queen rose to her feet.

"So, am I to be blamed for the crimes of others?"

The Queen's eyes were bright with a spark at these words.

"That depends. Did you ride with your brother?"

Sandor laughed cynically.

"I devoted my life to killing my brother. My greatest regret is that the Dornish snake accomplished it before I did. I heard that he suffered from poison for a long time. I suppose I can be satisfied with that."

The silver haired woman looked him over in curiosity. She had a brother as well that she would have known.

"Why should I trust you?"

"Why should you not? I came the morning after I received your summons, Your Grace. Surely, that shows my commitment to your claim to the throne."

Sandor remained on his knees. For Sansa. Her she-wolf sister and the boy were taking her north. She would be safe with her brother. He remembered seeing the bastard boy watching Joffrey and the kingly brother train from a window above.

She would be safer away from the fighting. The wolf bitch was surely right about Lord Commander Snow. She had always snapped about how wonderful he was.

"I will not condemn someone for their relatives. I am not my father anymore than you are your brother." Her purple eyes were soft as she looked him over.

Sandor looked her over with narrow eyes. She was a strange queen.

"You may rise, my Lord."

Sandor rose.

"I am happy to welcome you to my cause. You are welcome to go train in the yard, or get something to eat from the kitchens. I have a meeting with my council."

"Aye, Your Grace."

"As other lords arrive, I would like you to be present for them as they swear their loyalty."

"Aye, Your Grace."

"We will all know where we stand."

Sandor nodded. It was not a bad plan. She would be able to gauge the reactions everyone had to each other. She would be able to learn a great deal about which she could have very little knowledge.

He walked swiftly from the throne room. He needed to tend to Stranger.

The next days passed in a slow blur of monotony. Many lords of the Westerlands were coming and pledging loyalty to the Dragon Queen. Had Lord Tywin still been alive, they would not have dared. They knew what Lord Tywin did to those who showed him disloyalty. None of them feared Cersei as they feared the dragons.

The days passed in something of a blur. Nothing much was occurring as they waited to see which lords would come and pledge loyalty. Many lords had a far greater distance to travel than he had. He spent time training with the other men. It was good to have some more warriors with whom to train. He hoped the boys at the castle were continuing to practice their drills, though he did not know how much good it would do.

He thought of Sansa every day, wondering where she was, if she was safe. He hoped she was making good time. There was a long way north to travel, but with it only being three in the group—hopefully the trip would prove swifter. She would have no cause to stop anywhere as King Robert had felt the need to do as he traveled. She would not pause her travel to be feasted, but even so, the distance between her and her brother was vast. Nothing would be able to withstand the wolf pack with which she was traveling, and even if they could, the wolf-bitch was a match in rage for any man. He would never forget the way she plunged the dagger into that man over and over.

He wandered into the godswood, which was nothing more than a small wooded garden within the walls of Casterly Rock. Somehow being in this place made him feel closer to Sansa.

He leaned against a tree and sank to the ground. She said she loved him. She loved him. He would join her as soon as he could. He would be a loyal hound to her. He wished she was here so he could pass his fingers through her hair and hold her while she knelt at his feet. It was intoxicating when she knelt by his feet. He felt less helpless to her allure that way, though he knew in his heart that he became as good as her slave the moment he was racing out to fight his brother to save that little shit Knight-of-Flowers.

The sudden snap of a twig brought him out of his thoughts about Sansa. She was safe. With that direwolf, the wolfbitch, and the large bastard boy, how could she not be?

"A hound has come to a dragon."

He looked up. Under a tree about a hundred feet away from him stood a young girl in a cowl. His heart fell to his stomach as he saw the sword hanging on her belt. He stalked toward her quickly.

"You."

The wolf bitch pulled the sword out. He grasped the wrist that held the sword before she could make much of a move. He lifted her up. She did not struggle.

"Where is she?" Sandor growled. "Where is she?"

The panic was becoming deeper, racing through him like a wild beast. She was supposed to be with Sansa. He sent her with Sansa because Sansa would be safe with her. She betrayed her sister. She wouldn't have killed her sister, would she?

"Where is she?"

He let the bitch's mother die; there was nothing he could have accomplished by going so she had let him live so she could let something he cared for die. He felt the pain acutely in his chest at the thought that he might have failed Sansa.

"Where is Sansa?"

"A wolf can be two places at once."

Her gray eyes were clear, and her face was partially impassive. She stared at his face as though it were a painting.

"Did you kill your sister?" He would kill her if she killed Sansa. He knew she had thought of killing Sansa. It had been so easy to see it in her, having known it in himself. He never thought she would act upon it. "Where is she?"

"A pretty bird still sings as her tears freeze on a northern flight."

He lowered her to the ground, keeping his hold on her wrist. Where was she? Was she alright?

"A wolf joins a girl by the night."

"Speak plainly." He gave her a rough shake. "No nonsense."

A noticeable shift occurred in her eyes. Some of their old fire reasserted itself.

"I would not hurt my sister. Sansa is fine."

"Why are you here?" She ought to be with Sansa, keeping her safe. He wanted to shake the girl for leaving Sansa. Sansa was not strong in the way of these things. She was strong in her mind and resilience.

"Lords of rivers and melted castles come to swear fealty to the Queen."

"That is not what I meant." Sandor gave her another shake.

"I serve the true Queen. She is waiting for us."

Sandor released her, and she sheathed the sword. She looked into his face some more.

"I see Sansa every night. I will be rejoining her soon."

The wolf bitch turned and walked calmly toward the exit of the godswood. How could she see Sansa every night if Sansa was traveling north? Unless Sansa was correct and the wolf was a connection to her sister. He remembered a story he heard in the North about magic and people who could see through the eyes of animals.

"The pack is strong."

"What all do you know, Wolf?" He wondered what Sansa spoke of around the children in the castle. She had learned to keep her own thoughts secret as she could when she was in Joffrey's power. Everyone knew her real thoughts, but she kept telling them what they wanted to hear. She was too perfect. Did this one know about how her father had been taken? He had never mentioned it to her when they traveled together.

"I know that the Targaryens will win if her Grace makes peace with the boy who looks to be her nephew and rides with Griffins. I know that a direwolf will remain by the side of a dragon that does not turn to devour it and lords of snow will always join the direwolf."

"Her Grace know who you are?"

"Her Grace has much to worry about without wasting time on small details."

Sandor shifted, wondering what she may have said to the queen. From that answer, it might be that the queen knew who she was or that she didn't.

"Her Grace promised justice for all the wrongs I have seen." A dark smile formed on her mouth for a minute.

Sandor shifted. There was doubtless reference to the ill-fated wedding where her mother and brother had been murdered in that statement. Thinking on what he had seen of Harrenhal, the conglomeration of melted walls so reminiscent of candles, he did not want to even imagine what the Twins might be when the wolf-bitch and dragon queen went to exact their vengeance.

"There are injustices you have not seen as well."

The wolf-bitch stayed silent at the comment and pushed open a side door into the audience room. There was a fresh number of lords come to pay their respects and pledge their loyalty to Queen Daenerys.

He moved slowly toward the place that had been designated by the queen that he stand, beside a statue of a lion quite near the dais. He watched as half a dozen lords approached the dais where the queen was seated with her council. Ser Barristan stood as a silent sentinel in front of the steps.

His patience and attention were beginning to wander slightly after listening to several lords praise Her Grace and speak of her virtues and how pleased they were to have a Targaryen back. It had been the same speech since the lords started arriving.

"Your Grace." The man approached the queen with a look of confidence.

Sandor stirred. It hardly seemed possible. He looked toward Ser Barristan whose eyes were flashing. The older knight looked ready to kill.

"Lord Petyr Baelish of Harrenhal, Lord Paramount of the Trident come to swear loyalty."


	53. Sansa XVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She fancied that she could see shapes moving in it. Her eyes blinked more heavily. It looked like a thousand men riding toward her and Gendry before it swirled away.

"Everyone in the north knows the story of the Manderlys, and they have ever proven themselves more than loyal to the Starks."

"So, we want to go to White Harbor, then?" Gendry asked, poking another stick into the fire in the main room of the Inn.

She seemed to do nothing but go in circles. The only positive of it was that a circle would eventually lead her back to its beginning.

"I just do not know how easy it would be to get past the walls, if I did not want to announce myself to the guards. I feel most certain of Lord Manderly's assistance if we do, but getting into the castle. He would know me. But it is so likely that people loyal to Queen Cersei are there that it seems terribly unsafe. There is only one person I trust to keep me safe, but he is at the Wall, and I do not know how safe a place that is for a woman to go." It was strange to talk of plans to Gendry. But he was the one taking her. "I do not even know if I know where it is. We could get into all kinds of danger."

"Surely, if this person is there, that is the place to go."

"Stannis Baratheon is also at the wall." Sansa wrapped her arms around her legs disconsolately. Jon would not let anyone hurt her. He was her brother, but he was also Night's Watch, and they took no part. "I hope Lyanna returns to us soon. She said she would catch up to us. Do you suppose harm has befallen her?"

"She is fine, I should think. Too stubborn to die."

"Like Arya." Sansa said, thinking of her sister.

"Like you, Lady Sansa."

Sansa smiled, remembering her sister. Her sister was a survivor, much more so that her. Maybe she went north to the Wall. It would be like her to go to Jon. Jon had been her favorite brother. They looked so alike.

"I do not really know where White Harbor is from here. We could follow the coast and get there, but that does not seem safe. I know I could find the Wall. All there is to getting there is traveling North. With the pack assisting us, I have no doubt that we will reach the Wall. My brother is there, the only one left to me is also lost to me in a way."

"So, we'll go to the Wall?" Gendry asked. "That is where Arya and I were going so long ago with Yoren—before we were attacked by Tywin Lannister's men, and he was killed."

"Maybe we will find Arya there. She loved Jon more than anyone else, I think. He loved her too. She was upset about Jon having to go to the Wall, and I was not as kind to her as I should have been. I was a terrible sister to her. I was always judging her for the silly things she would do, like going into the swamps of the neck to hunt for lizard lions."

Sansa smiled sadly at her thoughts, how she had chastised Arya for coming back covered in mud, and how she had been play fighting with the butcher's boy. How she had lied and it cost Lady her life. If she had told the fat, drunk King the truth, he might not have killed Lady. The queen might still have wanted blood. There was no way to know. It was not doing her any good to look back. She looked up as she heard Gendry shuffle around and speaking.

"I was a terrible friend to her. Hot Pie and me both were."

"Hot Pie?"

Gendry poked another log into the fire as Sansa huddled under the blanket and leaned back against Nymeria whose eyes shone green every so often as the light caught them. He leaned back and began telling her about escaping Harrenhal and the journey toward Riverrun.

Sansa reached into the pocket of her dress and removed the handkerchief she always kept close to her. She raised it t her eyes to dab at the tears that formed.

"You miss him, don't you?"

She looked over at Gendry. Half of her father's destroyed greatsword hung from his waist. Sandor had insisted that they take it. It was not finished being fixed, and he said that Stark steel should always be with a Stark.

"I love him," Sansa said. She had told him twice, right in front of the whole castle. There was little point in trying to dissemble the fact. She said it, and she meant it. His eyes had changed for the briefest instant when he registered the words, but then he still sent her on her way. She could not decide if that was his way of saying he loved her to, or his way of not wanting to deal with a silly girl.

What if he found her feelings silly? That was part of what had kept her from saying anything to him for those few short weeks that they had been reunited. She knew that he found many notions to be silly and had no wish to be a vexation to him with her feelings. He never outright stated his regard for her, but he was always saving her. He had to care for her to be doing so all the time. He risked his night to come try to rescue her the night he deserted. Why do such if he cared nothing for her? He showed how much he cared.

"Best we get some sleep. It is a long way yet to Winterfell, and still farther to the Wall. Best we rest up here, and move on as soon as we are rested."

Gendry nodded. He rolled and rested on his stomach, putting his head on his arms.

"Gendry," she cut off before starting. "Good night." There was no need to build up hopes before she knew what was to truly be. When the time came, it would be a good surprise for him. She could give him a castle and lands, and if Arya wanted him as he seemed to want her, she would wish them all happiness.

She shifted onto her side, facing the fire. Arya had disliked Sandor passionately. Would any of that have changed since she had traveled with him, gotten to know him? Sandor said she had refused to kill him. Hopefully, her sister would not want to hurt Sandor. She stared into the flames watching the dance of it. She fancied that she could see shapes moving in it. Her eyes blinked more heavily. It looked like a thousand men riding toward her and Gendry before it swirled away.

The next thing she knew, someone was shaking her awake.

"My Lady. My Lady, wake up."

Sansa jerked up. Some embers still glimmered on the hearth. A loud lonely howl echoed through the woods from a distance. Nymeria was on her feet with her hackles raised, her muscles tensed, her lips pulled back in a snarl, and a growl rumbled from her throat.

"My Lady, I thought I heard horses."

"Horses?"

"Lots of horses, and voices." Gendry said. He helped her to sit up.

Snort! Clop. Clop. Clop.

Sansa strained her ears. She had heard a horse snort, and she definitely heard more than one horse walking around.

"The Inn is surrounded by wolf tracks, my Lord."

"Wolves don't build fires, and walls protect people from them, Ser."

Sansa felt her heart rise into her throat. She knew that voice. She shifted back and gripped Gendry. He was no match for the man out there, the hundreds, maybe thousands, of men out there.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Gendry, we need to get out of here without being seen." She trembled. It sounded like they were surrounded by an army.

"What's going on?" he whispered.

BAM!

Sansa screamed as the door burst open and Nymeria snarled, leaping toward the intruder.

"Nymeria, no!" If something happened to Nymeria, something bad might happen to Arya.


	54. Sandor XVIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So that is it, I stole the bone you abandoned, Hound? Is that the reason for this vitriol?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an off screen (semi-major) character death in this chapter. Feel I should tell you, in case that is not your thing.

Sandor moved out of the shadows, sword drawn. This man had tortured Sansa, had made possible the capture of her father. Baelish was smart enough to have been able to help the other man escape the dark cells if he had wanted. Baelish had wanted war between Lannisters and Starks just to supplant power. The man would find a way to do the same thing to this queen with no trouble at all.

Heavy footsteps followed behind him. He took slight notice of the older knight, moving the same way, sword drawn toward Baelish, a look of rage on his face.

With one swift blow, Sandor decapitated the man drawing a sword at the side of the murderer, and Ser Barristan placed his sword at the neck of the other man.

"Your Grace, this man advocated for killing you and your child as soon as word reached us of your pregnancy by your Khal. This man is not your friend, no matter what he says. I beg Your Grace to believe me."

"And more besides. He is no friend to anyone but himself." Sandor growled low in his throat. "He would have betrayed his mother if he thought it was a way to put his arse on the Iron Throne."

The queen's face was hard as she looked them over. Her eyes were like rough cut amethysts. She wore a long black dress with red dagged sleeves embroidered with the three headed dragon of her house.

"That is an exaggeration, Clegane. I assure Your Grace—what is the past between us is the past. I have no thought of doing any harm to any who serves you loyally."

"Shut your mouth." Daenerys voice was quiet like a spark just as it ignited kindling. She stood in front of her throne. The room was almost entirely silent. Her violet eyes flashed with fire. Her fists clenched with fury. "What other crimes is he responsible for?"

Sandor looked her over. The young woman was apparently not so forgiving that she would allow a man who plotted against her or her child to ever live. It was not a surprise that the man would advocate for killing an unborn child. He did remember the day the king had bellowed about Lord Stark's stubborn refusal to follow his lead. It seemed to him that was the day or near the day that the Kingslayer fled the capital after brutally attacking Lord Stark and slaughtering his men because Lady Stark had taken the Imp.

"Killing an entire family in the Vale to advance his own interests, including one he took for his wife." Sandor said, his voice a growl. He shifted a bit remembering what little he had seen of Lady Arryn. She had not been a well woman, but she had not deserved to die pushed from a tower. "Poisoned them and pushed them off cliffs after they helped him attain high offices. Let the small people remain outside the city walls when they could not pay to get in to safety from the war. Let them die." He stole Sansa. He stole her and put her through the gods only knew what. He hoped he could lop the man's head off. He wondered what Sansa would think of such a delivery, probably not much. Her reaction to seeing all the heads of her father, his men, and even that septa—he could not put her through something similar. She never said what she planned to do with the man after he was delivered. 

"I sense there is more to that story, and I will hear it in time."

"Only two men spoke against the assassination attempt of Your Grace. Myself and Lord Stark. He took Lord Stark captive. Lord Stark sought to do the right thing, and abide by the King's will. He played the friend to Stark in the night, but the next day he held a blade to his throat."

"He all but swung the sword that killed him. I guarantee he shed no tears for it, nor did he ever say a word about a young girl who was constantly beaten by the young king." He waited until she was almost broken. Sansa had only occasionally spoken with him about her time in the Eyrie. He had not pressed her. It was clearly a painful subject.

A play of emotions rippled over Daenerys' face.

"So that is it, I stole the bone you abandoned, Hound? Is that the reason for this vitriol?"

A scream echoed from the stairs in front of the queen. The ring of steel being drawn split the air.

Sandor moved back as the wolf-bitch drove her thin sword into the belly of Lord Baelish.

"You killed my father! You killed my father!" She tore the blade from his stomach with a wrenching motion. He screamed as she tried to shove it into him again, only to have it deflected by Ser Barristan. "You killed my father!"

Blood spilled from the wounds, and Baelish placed his hands over the wound as he collapsed to his knees. Sandor reached out and grasped the wolf bitch's arm that held her sword and lifted her gently. He remembered the last man he had seen her kill.

"Mercy. Mercy, Your Grace."

Glancing at the queen revealed a ferocity Sandor never knew could live in a woman, except the wolf bitch when she screamed all those questions and had to be wrenched away.

"You will die, Lord Baelish, for the crime betraying and attempting to have murdered your true Queen and future King."

"Mercy."

"Take him to Drogon. I imagine he is hungry."

Sandor felt a rush of fear and stepped back from Baelish, dropping the wolf bitch. The little queen was feeding Baelish to her dragon. He had seen the bursts of flame come from that beast's mouth. Baelish deserved the fate, but he wished Sansa would have been able to face him before his death. She had wanted it. But with it being her sister who had killed the man. Maybe that would make it all right, that a Stark accomplished the task. Better to let Baelish die now than try to save him for Sansa. He was too dangerous to allow to live—even the young queen knew that.

"Ser Barristan, Lyanna, take him to Drogon. Lyanna, return immediately. We have some matters to discuss."

Ser Barristan nodded. He sheathed his sword and grabbed Baelish's arms. The queen turned and looked at each of the other lords in the room in turn as she spoke her warning.

"Let this serve as a lesson to you. If you plot or have plotted against my life, you will pay with yours. There will be no more usurpers. I will annihilate them all, and my dragon will devour them. I am retaking the Kingdom, and all who stand in my way will perish in agony. All who betray me will perish more painfully."

Sandor moved to a place in front of the dais where Daenerys sat. This was only temporary. He would soon return to Sansa. He could not help thinking of the asset that it would be to the queen to have Sansa here with her. But he could not allow Sansa to fall into the hands of someone who would use her for a pawn and imprison her again. She was safe where she had been sent. Surely, the wolf bitch and Sansa would not both be wrong about this brother at the Wall. With him being Lord Commander, she would be safe.

"You may all be dismissed to your regular activities. Lord Clegane, I would speak further with you."

"Aye, Your Grace."

The other lords filed out slowly. Sandor shifted, trying not to think too hard on Sansa. He would go to her side as soon as he was able.

"I do not require your presence, Lord Tully."

He rose and nodded.

"Very well, Your Grace. I shall go and see if there has been any message from my wife about our soon to be born child."

The queen sank back into her chair.

Sandor had to fight not to glower when the queen called him lord. He knew that now he technically was a lord, though he did not cherish the title.

"Clegane, what do you know of the Lords of the Vale?"

"Not much, except that they wanted Baelish punished for killing the heir to the Eyrie and Lord Protector of the Vale. He also killed the Lady of the Vale and framed another for it. They intended to kill him when he stumbled to the Quiet Isle, a place of monks and prayer and meditation." He stopped before saying more. She could not be allowed to know about Sansa. She might hurt her for crimes of the past—crimes committed from before she was even born.

"How do you know this?"

"I was injured and tended to by the Elder Brother of the Quiet Isle. I was there when he arrived in the company of some unsavory characters, all of whom are now dead." Sandor left out the part of how and why they died.

"Why did they die?"

"They tried to hurt someone who had sought sanctuary on the island. I did not allow them. They are long washed out to sea by this time."He shifted on his feet.

"And what of Lyanna's father? You said Baelish killed Lord Stark."

He choked out the girl's false name. Apparently, the little queen had already known that she had a Stark. "Lyanna is the best to tell you about that. I did not know Lord Stark very well. He was not fond of my face." _the way one of his daughters seems to have become._

"Do you know her?"

Squeak.

Lyanna walked into the room confidently.

"I think you two have some explaining to do, and we will wait until my Hand arrives."

Lyanna lowered her hood.

"I have arrived, your Grace."

Sandor felt his blood boil as he saw the Imp, He might have known that Tyrion would survive Cersei's pitiful hunters. Her hunters did not even know whom they were looking for. Tyrion always had been the smart one. Sansa's husband. His hand moved to his sword. Making him the 'quarter man' as he had suggested would free Sansa. Sansa did not want the Imp for a husband.

"Clegane."

"Little Lord."

The noseless dwarf looked at him placidly.

"Strange rumors, I've been hearing. You ran from fire once. Now you have run to it. I have even heard that you left one Lannister for another."

"Speak sense, Dwarf." How could he know that he had been with Sansa? He was certainly inferring it. It had been smart to send Sansa away. She would not want to be with Lord Imp. At least, she would be safe from him.

"Not that this is not entertaining, but I was hoping that we would get to a point. There is clearly much more going on. Care to start, Lyanna?"

The conversation dragged on for hours. Ser Barristan rejoined them and stood as a silent sentinel.

Sandor glowered at the Imp, unable to prevent his thoughts from wandering to how wonderful it would be to take his head off and knowing that it was not possible to do so without dying. He promised to return to Sansa. He would have to tell her that the Imp was yet alive and that he had seen him.

"So Tyrion, you are married to this Heiress of Winterfell?"

"In name only, Your Grace, as I have told you. The girl would not have me, and I could not take what she was unwilling to give."

"So are you still Lord of Winterfell? Will the North listen if you summon them?"

Tyrion laughed hollowly.

Sandor stared at the little man. It was laughable to consider the possibility of Northern Lords coming to a man who was married to a Stark and happened to have misplaced her.

"If I had Sansa, they might perhaps come to me for her sake alone. But she disappeared the night of Joffrey's death. You do have another Stark." He pointed one of his stubby fingers at Lyanna.

"That was how you planned to rally the North to my side. You are Arya Stark."

The young girl did not acknowledge her name.

"I, too, have had to change who I was to adapt to situations that spiralled out of my control. Do you truly believe that the North will rally to you?"

Sandor felt himself tremble inside. Everything was falling apart.

"If they believe a girl is the daughter of Lord Eddard, they will help her. The only thing they would go to first would be a son of Lord Eddard, and his true-born sons have all been murdered."

"If we have both daughters of Lord Stark, they should surely come to your fight, Your Grace," Tyrion offered quietly. "Perhaps, we should investigate Lady Brienne's tale."

Sandor felt his heart fall into his stomach. Had the giant wench betrayed them? At least Sansa was not at the Keep any longer. They would not have her, but he might fail to keep his word to her. He might be killed for the knowledge he had kept from the queen.

"Clegane, I have heard a story about a man having another man's wife in a castle in the Westerlands."

"Search Clegane Keep if it please you, Lannister. You will nothing but a castle of orphans."

"In that case, where is she?" Tyrion sipped some wine.

"None of your damn business," the wolf bitch spoke up. "You can't have her, Imp."

"Lya—Arya Stark. Where is your sister? She can not be anywhere safer than here with me. I have promised you justice for what happened. No harm will come to your sister. I swear it on the soul of my murdered son, that I will bring no harm to her. Tell me where she is so we may bring her to safety."

"A girl doesn't know."

Sandor stared at the queen hard, remembering his words to Sansa. _A dog can smell a lie._

"If you mean that, allow me to go to her and keep her safe," Sandor spoke up. He fell to his knees. If he could go to Sansa immediately, he could keep her safe.

"You know where she is."

"I sent her away somewhere she would be safe. But journeying anywhere these days is always a danger. I will serve you by protecting her. She trusts me."

"Why should I not just send her husband? He can demand the northern lords turn her over and they will have no choice."

"They will make your hand a finger before they give her up. She wants nothing of him. He can tell you the whys of that. She will see me, and she will see the wolf—sister here."

"Where is she?"


	55. Sansa XVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Release him. He is one of my father's bannermen."

Sansa glanced to her left from where she sat sideways on Nymeria's back. Lord Harold Hardyng, Lord of the Eyrie and Lord Protector of the Vale rode an enormous destrier that snorted and held its ears pinned back. They had been journeying together for a week. An uneasy alliance had formed between them—he told her that he did not intend to keep her his captive that he wanted to save her from Lord Baelish before some evil befell her. Surrounded by soldiers and guards who rarely spoke to her only reminded her of her time in the Red Keep and the Eyrie. Lord Harry certainly did not object in any way to the death of his distant cousin for it had catapulted him to Lord Protector far sooner than it would otherwise have happened.

"My Lord, I had not thought to see you again." Unless it would be to have your headsman remove my head after removing Lord Petyr's.

"You are not responsible for what Lord Baelish did. You were his captive. He is far more tricky than we credited him to be. We never meant for him to escape with you, my Lady. I had thought we might be wed if the idea still appeals to you. It is a good match." His eyes raked over her body, covered as it was by her cloak. "You are very beautiful and pleasing, Sansa. I should like to have you. For my wife."

Sansa ignored the look and the forwardness of his use of her given name. He had no right. He was neither her betrothed, nor her husband, nor a true knight. Nor had he sought her permission or simply been granted the liberty.

"I am still married to Lord Tyrion, exiled, dishonored, and disowned though he may be." Her voice was gentle even with the ice in her was not his fault that those things had happened—well, he had chosen to kill Lord Tywin Lannister—so he had chosen to be a kinslayer, but only after it was made entirely clear that he was guilty just for being as he was, short and deformed and not as his father would have wished. She would marry the young falcon the day Lord Baelish decided to become an honest and honorable man, but there was no need to tell him that. He had an army and the means to force the arrangement upon her if he knew that she was still a virgin. If they discovered that Tyrion had not claimed her, then her marriage could be annulled without the involvement of the High Septon.

"The queen's assassins can not be far behind him at this point. You will soon be widowed."

"I shall have to wait the word of his death and his mourning days as I can not travel to see the High Septon for a divorce." She held in her words about how she never wanted to go to King's Landing again, nor see the Sept of Baelor. She hoped the building would burn or be destroyed terribly. Her father died on the steps of that building. "If you intend to marry me, you will be waiting some time, my Lord."

"What is a little wait when two hearts are bound so close as mine is to yours?"

Lovely words with no substance. She felt nothing for Lord Harry, but better to accept his words than spurn him. He was giving her safe passage through the north, safer than she would have been with her army of wolves alone. An army to claim her right.

Sansa urged the wolf forward a little faster into the deepening snow that was beginning to choke the King's Road at this part of the Neck. She could hardly conceive of what it would be like as they had continued north. She had only begun to learn of winter recently. Winter came the day her father died.

Old Nan's stories about the white walkers played in her mind making her tremble as she remembered the note she had seen and been able to partially read while she was at the Gates of the Moon. It had been signed by her brother who had risen to be Lord Commander of the Night's Watch in the few short years since she had last seen him.

"Where do you intend on going first in the north, my Lord?" She could not help wondering if he knew anything about the north or its lords and thinking it unlikely.

"We are travelling north to join the Targaryen prince who has gone to the wall to slay a false king."

Now there were two of them? Sansa felt her stomach fall. Would she be safe, even with the army of the Vale behind her?

"I understood that the Targaryen queen was at Casterly Rock."

Despite the warmth of her cloak and the heat from Nymeria beneath her, Sansa shivered and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around the animal's neck. She brushed the tears away from her cheeks against the fur, shoving away the memory of her last moments with Lady.

"We know little and less of your queen. We received word of a lost Targaryen prince massing at Griffin's Roost, that he had a dragon." Lord Hardyng stared ahead of him as he rode. "So we went there. There was indeed a dragon there, my Lady. An enormous white scaly beast that breathed golden flames wherever the boy commanded. There has been nothing but trouble in the seven kingdoms since the Targaryens were replaced by Baratheons and Lannisters. Not that the Mad King could be allowed to remain in power. Aegon VI, as he is called. He is the rightful king."

Sansa shifted, holding in her thoughts that maybe the trouble started with one bad decision. Perhaps the bad decision had been made for a good reason—or what passed for a good reason at the time. A person might do a horrible thing without knowing what they were doing—especially if they believed they were in love or loved the for whom the act was prompted.

If Bran had not been pushed from the window. If her father had stayed in Winterfell. If she had chosen to see the contradiction of Joffrey's actions with those of a true prince. If her mother had not taken Lord Tyrion. If she had not gone to the queen. If Theon had not betrayed Robb. If she had seen Sandor's nobility and goodness in saving her as opposed to his harsh words when she tried to thank him. If she had not been so blind in trusting a fool she had made. If. If. If. There were so many ifs. She could not spend her time looking back now. There would be time enough for that later.

"It seems that we are traveling in the same direction."

"Allow us to escort you in safety, my Lady. The north is vast and wild. The journey to the wall is a long one."

And faster with a smaller number of people. Sansa sighed. It would be safer with a greater number of travelers. She now rode with an army. An army that was not hers, an army Petyr intended to give her for reclaiming the North. What would Sandor think of all this? There was precious little she could do to escape so vast a force, and with the Boltons named Wardens of the North, better to have the thousands of men between her and them. It was possible that she could have traveled quietly enough to be undetected, but just as likely that they would be found.

"I would be honored, my Lord. I ask one condition to our newfound alliance."

"Name it, my Lady."

"No Northern lords, except the Boltons, are to be attacked until they prove themselves hostile to us. The Boltons have already betrayed the Starks. They will know that I am here." Sansa shifted. The northern forces were depleted enough by wars in the south. No more needed to die unless they were disloyal to the liege lord. She knew every lord of the North by name and face. "I feel certain that they will be persuaded to join me if given the chance." They did not stand much of a chance against this vast assembled force of the Vale.

"Fair enough. They are your people."

Sansa nodded, peering into the muck and gloom. Her sister had hunted lizard lions when she had last traveled this road here. Once, she thought she saw eyes watching her, but when she looked again, there was nothing. Briefly, she wondered where the floating castle of the Crannogmen was, Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch.

"Isn't there a castle somewhere around here?"

"If you care to risk entering the bogs. Only the Crannogmen know how to reach the floating castle." Sansa said, repeating the story often shared among the northern lords.

"Let me go!"

Sansa jerked on Nymeria's back, and the wolf growled and moved through the number of horses that parted with varying bugles of distress. Some had adjusted to Nymeria more easily than others in the time they had spent traveling together.

"Let me go, I say."

"Release him. He is one of my father's bannermen." Sansa's commanded. Nymeria let out a deep growl.

The smallish man was released. He dropped to his knees in front of her.

"My Lady, I was sent to keep watch for you. There is a young girl who knew of your journey and wishes to join you. I think it will please you to see her again. If you can stay your journey for two days that I might take you to her at Greywater Watch, my Lady, you will not be disappointed."

"Who is it that you are taking me to?" Sansa could think of precious few women in the North who would be able to help her, and no way that they would have been able to attain knowledge of her travels. Alys Karstark might help her for their family bond and the Mormont women were known for their loyalty to House Stark, but neither could know much of what occurred. They both lived so far north and hardly an extensive network of informers, nor did they need such a thing.

"She says she is Arya of House Stark."

Sansa slipped off Nymeria's back, resting a hand on her head.

"If she is my sister, Nymeria will know."

"Lady Sansa."

"I would go with you to see A—Lady Arya."

"Of course, you shall come, Ser Gendry." She would not leave him behind. It might please Arya to see him again. Gendry was her man, unlike the others around her—who were Ser Harry's men.

"My Lady, perhaps I should also accompany you," Lord Hardyng said, dismounting and moving to her side.

Sansa looked over at him. There was really no need for that.

"If it please you, Ser."

"It does." He moved to rest a hand on her shoulder. Sansa shifted back, leaning into Nymeria's body.

He had no right to touch her. She would be damned before she allowed him or any of his to touch her. Nymeria was good to protect her. She was no Lady, but she was powerful and protective. The wolf turned and growled, her hackles raising and her ears flattening back.

"Easy, Nymeria. He is not trying to hurt me."

He stepped back.

"I meant no offense."

"Then keep your hands off Lady Sansa," Gendry spoke up, moving between them.

Nymeria's growl ceased, and her ears raised as she pushed her nose toward one of his pockets.

Gendry dug into a pocket and pulled out a few pieces of bacon left over from breakfast and gave them to the wolf.

"We will leave for Greywater Watch immediately," Sansa said. She was going to see her sister. Even if it turned out to be someone false, she could not refuse the chance that it might truly be Arya. "I long for my sister."

"As you wish, my Lady. Lord Reed is preparing a small feast for you, even now. Best we hurry."

Nymeria bowed and Sansa climbed over her shoulders, and buried her fingers in the thick hair of her neck. Gendry walked at her side and Harry the Heir remounted his destrier and urged the animal forward to walk beside the wolf.

"Are you sure about going to this castle, my Lady? It might not be safe without the army."

"Lord Reed was my father's most faithful and trusted bannerman. He always spoke well of him and his loyalty. He faced three knights of the Kingsguard with my father, and walked away after fighting Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Arthur Dayne, and Ser Oswell Whent. I trust in my father's judgment of him. I should be honored to meet him."

Ser Harry looked taken aback for a moment, pulling his horse to a stop even as Sansa urged Nymeria on, following the small man into the bog. He followed behind her a moment later.

"Stay close to me, my Lady." The small man led them cautiously, occasionally poking the ground with a long walking stick.

Gendry placed his hand on the wolf's shoulder as they proceeded slowly through the bog.

Sansa closed her eyes and leaned forward across the wolf. She was so tired. She wrapped her arms around the wolf's neck. She murmured into it, about her hope of finding Arya and how she wished Sandor was with her. She had lost her wolf and the dog that came to her had become a man. She had no notion she had fallen asleep until Gendry's gentle shaking roused her.

"We are here, my Lady."

Sansa sat up, wishing she was back in her dream. She had dreamed of the Tourney honoring her father's appointment as Hand of the King. Sandor had won as he had in life and had named her queen of love and beauty. She had been about to thank him for the honor when she awakened.

"Princess Sansa."

Sansa jerked at the title and at the sight of all the men in the courtyard kneeling as Gendry lifted her down.

She walked slowly through the thin snow on the ground to a man with a curved gold and emerald pin with a lizard lion on it adorning his cloak.

"Your Grace."

"I am no princess, my Lord. Please stand." The smaller man rose to his feet slowly. Sansa was shocked to see that he was a head shorter than she. "It is an honor to meet you, my Lord. My father always spoke of you with the greatest affection." She curtsied.

"Your brother was a king. You are a princess to the Northern lords still, my Lady. My family remains ever loyal to you and yours."

"I thank you. May I present Lord Protector of the Vale, Lord Harold Hardyng, and Ser Gendry Waters, one of my personal guards."

"An honor to meet you both. Shall we journey inside and out of this cold, my Lady? Your sister awaits us within."

Sansa felt a thousand questions bubbling up in her mind that she longed to ask, but she kept it down. It would not be fitting to assault Lord Reed with so many questions.

"That would be lovely."

Sansa felt her heart rise in her throat as she remembered how she had been treating her sister in the last days they spent together in the Red Keep.

"The feast will not be ready for some hours, so you and Princess Arya shall have some time alone to catch up."

Sansa nodded as she followed a man upstairs.

Lord Reed knocked on the door and opened it when the occupant called out to enter.

"My Lord, I have not seen my sister in more than a year. I should enjoy having her to myself for a time that we might converse as family of our time apart." Sansa turned to the blond man who was following her before she entered the room. Nymeria growled at him and stepped forward. "Ser Gendry, do join us."

The Lord Protector of the Vale looked ready to object at this, but stopped as the wolf snarled silently and flattened its ears back.

Sansa walked slowly into the room and felt a tremor run down her spine as she saw her. The wolf walked calmly to the girl and laid down, curling around her chair.

"Arya."

Arya looked at her blankly. Sansa moved forward and wrapped her arms around her. Tears were pouring down her cheeks.

"You're alive. I've missed you so much. I'm so sorry for everything. It's all my fault."

Arya motioned to the chairs.

"I'm so glad you're alive. I love you."

She moved back and sat down, looking at her sister desperately. She looked different.

"Where have you been, Arya?"

"A girl has been many places."

Sansa stared at her sister. What did that mean? What had happened to Arya?

"Tell me everything, Arya, please. Everything that you have been through."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my lovely reviewers. I always enjoy reading them.


	56. Jaime VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tommen, what do all the other men call me?"

The walls of the city loomed in front of him. He could see the towers and turrets of the Red Keep.

"Tyrion," he said, turning to his brother who had ridden at his side.

"Yes, Brother."

"Will she?" he said, feeling panic grip him. He had been able to attend Joffrey's funeral without any response and accept his passing without emotion, but the thought of something harming Tommen made him sick. He had come to know his younger son better than he ever had his first born. Tommen was a sweet and innocent boy. "Tyrion, please, please do not let her harm Tommen. He is a good little boy."

"If Tommen surrenders the city without a fight, Her Grace will allow him to accompany me back to Casterly Rock and be raised as my ward. Her Grace does not wish to kill her people. She has been a merciful conquerer as much as her conscience will allow, and she desires to show her mercy to her subjects. She wishes above all to be seen as better than what came before. You will be carrying a message to Tommen in the city. Her Grace commands that Ser Barristan accompany you."

Jaime rode confidently toward the gate with a knight at his side. He was hailed immediately and the gates were opened to admit him given the distance the army stood back.

The words replayed themselves in his mind over and over as he rode Honor into the city. He was a knight of the Kingsguard, the Lord Commander of Joffrey's and Tommen's whether he had asked for it or not. The knights at the Tower of Joy had preferred to die rather than bend the knee, but they had not had a son to think about or the mother of the son.

No one was in the streets. There was no evidence of fires in the homes either. It was as if the peasants believed that if there was no sign of life in a house that the dragon's fire would not burn them. He urged his horse to a trot down the straight road to the great castle. There was nothing to slow them, and he preferred to get this humiliation out of the way. Her Grace had arrived back this morning without a girl she had left with on a scouting mission toward the Vale and North. She flew over the city on that beast of hers, showing her strength and power to those watchers. She even had the creature send out a blast of fire between two towers of the keep, one of them was the Tower of the Kingsguard.

"What do you think Her Grace will do with me?"

"Her Grace's safety is my only concern. I do my best not to dwell on anything else."

Jaime felt a clench in his stomach. He ought to tell Tommen right away that he was his father and Myrcella's. He might never see his daughter again. He never told her that he loved her, not once, even when she had been a little girl and kissed his cheek, professing her love for him when he had been bullied by her into playing 'Knights and Ladies.' She also had often enjoyed being carried specifically by him when she was very little, preferred him to Cersei to his sister's massive annoyance. He should write something to his daughter to tell her everything in case he never had a chance to tell her in person.

"If your words about Lord Stark saving her nephew were true, then I imagine you will be allowed to live. Who is this boy?"

"His name is Jon Snow. Lord Stark claimed that he was his bastard son, but anyone who knew Prince Rhaegar might see something of the similarity to the boy in his face and demeanor and how he fought with a sword. I never asked Stark about it, but I thought it best for everyone. Just one more secret that I knew."

Ser Barristan was quiet.

"And the other boy, Aegon? Do you really think he lives?"

"I know that I helped Lord Varys to help him. What became of him after, I could not tell you. He may have become sick. He may have gotten in a bar fight and been killed. He may know or not know who he is. I hope he lives." Jaime did not say that he mostly hoped the boy lived because it would give him a shred of honor in the eyes of a man he respected so highly. "I remember when I served as your squire once. I wasn't a very good squire, always underfoot and asking far too many questions."

Jaime looked at his stump.

"You are learning to fight with your left hand?" Ser Barristan asked.

"Only fighting poorly with it." Jaime said. Not that the other knight would not know the full truth of his helplessness.

"Perhaps we might practice at some point. I have some experience at learning to fight at such disadvantage."

Jaime looked over at the knight. Did he mean that or did he just want a chance to humiliate him? He wished the other man would be silent, though he knew that there was doubtless much he wished to know. Perhaps he might add these deeds to the list of those performed by Ser Jaime Lannister,

"Why did you not tell me that you saved the princes?"

Jaime shrugged. It had not been a good idea to ever mention such secrets in the Red Keep.

"I thought it best. If the boy Stark took to Winterfell was whom I thought him to be, best for all that no one know. If Aegon lived, best he not have the greatest knight alive being a beacon pointing to him. You are one man. Robert would have come with an army to annihilate that baby. Best he be allowed to live and grow up quietly. If he was a true King, he would come back."

They quieted as they arrived at the gates of the Red Keep. Jaime took a deep breath and walked up the steps. They moved into the throne room and found Tommen sitting the throne with a kitten on his lap.

"Ser Uncle. I was worried." Tommen rose and walked down the steps in front of the throne.

Jaime moved swiftly down the middle of the room and gathered the boy to him. He held Tommen close in his arms. He buried his fingers in the boy's soft blond hair.

"Jaime, what are you doing here, Ser? We had heard you were captured."

Jaime turned and saw his sister with her head still covered. Her walk had humbled her, but the death of their uncle had increased her paranoia.

"Your Grace, I ask for a private audience."

"Mother, I will speak to Ser Uncle alone. Ser Boros, please take mother to her room."

"Let me kiss you, Tommen."

Tommen motioned his mother close, stepping from Jaime's embrace to accept a kiss on his forehead.

"I love you, Mother. All will be well."

Cersei looked ready to give fight but went meekly as the knight took her arm.

Jaime collapsed to his knees when Cersei was gone.

"Tommen." He brushed his hand over the boy's face over and over before removing the crown from his head gently and setting it to the side. "You must listen to me."

Tommen was quiet in his arms and still.

"The Targaryen queen has returned to Westeros. Your uncle is with her, Tyrion. He serves as her hand. He has spoken to her of allowing you to go to live at Casterly Rock with him. She has agreed to these terms, but only if you give up your crown without a fight. She wants as little bloodshed as possible. If you force a fight, you will be executed."

"Uncle."

"She has a dragon. This city will burn and be destroyed if you do not yield. You must do so for the sake of the people. The thousands of people here surely mean more than the lump of gold on your head, yes?"

Tommen was quiet and his green eyes were large with fear. He trembled a little.

"But I am the king."

"Tommen, you must listen to me."

His son. He had to protect his son. Tommen was a good boy, kind to his sister and adoring of his mother even when she bullied him.

"They have your sister. They have dragons. They have an enormous army, Dorne, the Riverlands, the Stormlands, the Crownlands, and the Westerlands. If Lord Mace Tyrell is their captive, and he has not been heard from for many months, then High Garden and the Reach may side with the Targaryens. The Vale did not take sides in the last war. The Northern Lords have winter speedily upon them and will not budge to help anyone save themselves. This city stands alone. For the sake of the people, I ask you to put aside a crown. Give it to its rightful owner."

"But my father was king." Tommen looked so confused and his green eyes were wide with fright.

Jaime felt his stomach clench. He should tell the boy the truth. There was no reason not to at this point. He looked over his shoulder at Ser Barristan who stood shrouded not far from the door.

"No. Tommen, Robert was not your father. I'm your father. Myrcella's father. And I was Joffrey's father."

"But you are mother's twin." Tommen remained close in his arms. He had such a sweet nature to him. So gentle. So kind. He would see the sense of giving up the crown and saving all the people. He was easily influenced in his decisions.

"Yes." Jaime swallowed hard as he gave the boy the excuse that he and Cersei had used for years to justify their sin, a sin perhaps more his than hers. He loved her, and she might only have used him. It did not matter. It was over now. "The Targaryens wed brother to sister for generations, as the Maester has taught you."

"You are a knight. You took an oath."

Jaime felt all the sickness in his gut. He had come this far. The boy deserved to know everything of his family heritage. What was told to the world mattered little and less. The only boy who needed to know everything was here in front of him.

"Tommen, what do all the other men call me?" Tears filled his eyes. He had slain a king before. He could do it again. It would be a mercy to the people and to Tommen.

"They call you Kingslayer, but I ordered them not to. I do not like to have you called so. I love you." The boy looked as if he wanted to call him uncle or father but could not make up his mind which was most appropriate or correct.

"I am a Kingslayer, Tommen. No amount of orders not to speak of it will change the fact. I killed the Mad King. I had reasons for why I did as I did. I believed them honorable and right at the time, and I still do now, after everything I have been through. I have chosen for many reasons to keep my silence on the matter, until quite recently when I told a companion for my peace of mind. I have told several others since. I have been reliving it all too often recently. I will tell you one day if you should like to know but not today. Today, what you decide is what matters."

Jaime looked over his cherub faced son. He would kill him himself before taking the boy alive to the Targaryen women against his wishes. He would not let the people of the city die for a pointless fight.

"I'm scared."

"Fear is a part of this life we live, my son. But it need not be part of our death. You can give up the crown and a false claim you have to the throne through blood you do not share with the man you called father, or you can save this city and its people from death by surrendering. Her Grace, Queen Daenerys has sworn before her lords that no harm shall come to you for surrendering to her. She has shown this in the other cities she has conquered as well. You will be your Uncle Tyrion's ward. He loves you dearly and will care for you."

"Mother says—"

"What your Mother or anyone else says does not matter. You are king. You must make your choice. Whatever it is, I shall carry the news back to her."

Tommen shrank close to him. Jaime wrapped his arms tightly around the boy. Without his right hand, he was powerless to do anything but die before his son.

"You shall lose nothing that you ought lament being rid of, Tommen." He kept his tongue as he thought of what Tyrion had said of Cersei not being allowed to go free.

"Can I see Uncle Tyrion first?"

"I think the Queen will consent to allow him to come here. We shall ride to the wall and call him out if it please you."

"Will we see Myrcella?"

"She is still in Dorne, though I hope so soon." Jaime pulled him close, squeezing him tightly as tears dripped onto the boy's cloak. Joffrey would have damned himself and the city before releasing a hold that he had no right to exert.

"Will Mother come to Casterly Rock? Grandfather wanted her to be sent there."

"Let's go to the wall and begin talking. Talking to save the people. There is no time to waste." He could not tell the boy that Cersei might not be pardoned. He knew Cersei was capable of anything. She might even kill the boy rather than let him fall into the hands of the enemy. She knew as well as any Lannister, as anyone in the Seven Kingdoms really, what happened to royalty who had been found alive in the Red Keep when someone came to take the throne.

Tommen nodded bravely, and Jaime kissed his brow repeatedly.

"I love you, Tommen. Your father loves you. You are a good boy, a good son. You will be a great man some day."

"I love you—Father."


	57. Gendry V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming out of the forest was a host with horns blasting long loud notes.

Gendry sighed as he wandered through the Wolfswood within shouting distance of the main host. He was relegated to gathering wood for the fire. He wished he could be with Arya, but doubtless, they were keeping her closely watched. He remembered everything she had told him about Winterfell. They had passed it some days ago, and it had been a burnt shell. The castle had looked nothing like how she had described it.

She just stared at the place that had once been her home, once been full of such happy memories. She did not speak a word to him when he tried to offer his sorrow for what happened to the castle. She just looked at him with that oddly blank expression. He saw a few sparks of anger in her, but if he had not known her so well, he would have guessed she did not care a whit about the destruction of her family home.

When he had an armful of wood, he made his way back to camp to the main tent where Sansa and Arya were sheltered privately and next to tent where the high lords of the Vale gathered to eat and talk over plans, none of which he was allowed to attend.

"I have wood for your fire, Lady Sansa. May I enter?"

"Yes, Ser. Please do. We are rather chilled."

Gendry walked into the tent and went straight to the braziers and carefully started a fire in each. When he turned from lighting the last, he saw Arya standing there in trousers and brown woollen tunic. A long black cloak trimmed with gray fur hung from her shoulders.

"Arya." Gendry moved toward her. "Mi—"

"A girl will hit a stupid bull-headed boy if he calls her 'milady.'"

Gendry smiled.

"You've already shoved me to the ground for it."

Arya did not smile back, but her eyes remained on him.

"I went after you the night that you were taken by Clegane. But we never found you. I'm so sorry for hurting you. It wasn't what I wanted, milady."

Arya flew at him and shoved him.

"Arya!"

"He's stupid. You should never have taken him to your service. He will turn on you! He will leave you as he left me."

"Arya. Gendry has been quite loyal to me. He asked me for permission to seek you as soon as winter ended. He told me he believed you were alive, that you were too stubborn to die. I knew you were alive too, the moment Nymeria found me. I knew when I looked into her eyes that I was seeing you. I think that is why you continue to allow me to ride the wolf while you ride a horse, sister." Sansa looked between them for a few minutes. "I shall go and take Lord Hardyng up on his offer of a walk to a heart tree. I hope you two shall be friends when I return. We still have some weeks of travel left, and I prefer it to pass more pleasantly than the last ones."

Sansa curtsied and left the tent quickly.

"She knows nothing of what we went through."

"You know nothing of what she went through," Gendry returned, hating himself for a moment. He had no right to talk of Lady Sansa's experiences. The little he knew of them at any rate.

"She was on stage when father was beheaded, and she did nothing but faint. She should have stabbed Joffrey and the queen and killed them."

"With what? Do you think she had a weapon? The Kingsguard would have hacked her to pieces. She could no more save Lord Stark than you could. I am sure she did what she could at court to attempt to save him. She has sent a man to find the person she holds most responsible for your father's arrest."

"She stayed in the castle while I lived the streets."

"She was a prisoner in that castle. You had a measure of freedom. You escaped. She only changed to another captor."

Arya's face pinched.

"Your sister is not who she was. Neither are you. Lady Sansa said to me that 'winter has changed us all.' She needs you, and you need her. If you didn't, why come back?"

"She married into the family of murderers who killed our father."

"Talk to your sister about these matters. You judge without all the facts. You are not your sister. She is not you. She had no alternatives, and she survived, just as you have. She is just as strong as you."

Arya's gray eyes softened as she sank down.

"I am sorry for what happened to your brother by the Freys. The Brotherhood Without Banners has done what they could to avenge the death of King Robb Stark. We have been killing all Freys we capture on the orders of our leader. I was given permission by her to stay by Lady Sansa and protect her, and that I shall do."

Arya sank down by a brazier. She breathed out heavily.

"There is so much I can't tell Sansa. She should not know such things. She is a lady."

Gendry moved close to Arya, remembering how hurt he had been when they had been at the brothel by her spurning his help. She treated him like nothing, and he had never met such a wonderful girl. He knew she was a girl for so long, just not like other girls. She was tough, strong, and did not take crap. She gave as good as she could. He felt a laugh that he tried to choke down.

"What's funny?"

"Just remembering when I told you to pull out your cock and take a piss."

Arya smiled before she could stop herself.

"Then I called you milady. And you pushed me down."

"Serves you right."

Gendry grinned and leaned back on his elbows.

"Friends?"

"Friends."

His heart lifted instantly, and for a moment he thought to tell her why he had decided to become a knight with the Brotherhood rather than go to serve her brother. Being a knight had offered him an odd kind of hope when it came to her. He hoped that he might one day be able to earn her, even if she would hate it. Maybe it would be okay because they knew each other, and she seemed to like him just fine. It had been a foolish dream. He was nothing but a bastard, even knighted, he was still a bastard. A bastard would never be good enough for a daughter of Lord Stark. He knew that now.

"Arya, about why I joined the—"

The flaps of the tent opened then and a female servant walked into the space carrying a tray with bowls of stew and bread and some apples.

He went quiet. It was not something he wanted anyone else blathering around about. He would not be able to tell her until he could be certain that they would be undisturbed.

She watched him curiously.

"Would you like me to sharpen your sword? I have some another weapon to tend to as well. I have been fixing it as best I am able. I will need the help of a master to take care of one issue of my work."

Arya handed him Needle. She kept hold of the hilt as she spoke.

"What were you saying?"

Gendry looked away from her. She was still the most amazing girl he ever met. He could not be more than a servant to her. But better a servant near her, than a lord away from her. He had seen the same belief circulate in another man about her sister.

"Nothing. It was nothing."

Arya raised a brow at him.

"I'll tell you later. Work to do."

"You will ride with Sansa and me tomorrow."

"As milady commands."

Arya roughly shoved him, sending him sprawling to the ground on the other side of the tent flaps. He grinned even as he found himself looking up at her and Lady Sansa from his back.

"You shouldn't insult people who are littler than you."

"Couldn't insult anyone then, could I?" Gendry called as she turned her back on him. He laughed lightly. Arya was being Arya, at least the Arya Stark he had always known.

"Arya!"

"We're friends, Lady Sansa." Gendry said, grinning at Arya as she stomped into the tent.

Gendry just laughed as he stood and carried her sword away to be sharpened. He would enjoy riding with them tomorrow. Hopefully, Arya would talk to her sister about things.

He did not sleep that night. He stayed in the heat of the makeshift forge, sharpening Arya's sword and working on the task put to him by Lady Sansa to repair her father's blade. The coloring was the one aspect he knew not how to reverse, but a new hilt was possible.

It was as the sun came over the horizon that he completed the replacement of the hilt on the ancestral sword of House Stark. Two fiercely snarling wolf heads formed the crossguard, and he had fashioned a sharp and shiny black stone taken from the godswood of Winterfell into the pommel shaped in what he hoped could pass for a small icicle.

He spun the sword around a little, wishing he knew more about wielding a sword than he did making one for a moment. For the time being, this was as fine as sword as could exist protecting the Stark girls. He could only pray to the Red God that it would be enough for anything they encountered.

"Time to put out that fire, boy. We are ready to move out."

Gendry moved quickly, putting the sword into the sheath which he would have to find time to alter later. The lion on the locket would have to go and be replaced by something else. Snowflakes maybe or something. He would figure it out. Something to please Sansa.

He moved quickly to the horse that had been provided to him by Lord Hardyng at Sansa's request. She had politely refused the horse offered to her, saying that she would trust to Nymeria for her transportation. He hung the sword from his belt before clambering onto the horse awkwardly.

The loud whinnies of various horses told him where Nymeria was moving. He followed the sound and found Arya on a horse provided for her at the castle of the crannogmen.

She greeted him with her cold look that turned into a nearly imperceptible smile as he handed her her sword.

"You never did tell me where you got that sword."

She looked north, across the planes in front of the Wolfswood.

"A boy will meet a brother of a wolf at the Wall. A most loved brother, now Brother of the Night's Watch."

They moved out at the head of the column quietly. The travel was slow as happens as number increases, but at least they were not making frequent stops.

"I like what you have done to fix my father's sword."

Gendry offered her a grin.

"I shall fix it as best I can. What comes out of the forge is superior to what goes into it."

Awoooooooooo. It was soft and distant.

Gendry quieted then jerking his head around.

"Did you hear that?"

"A horn." Sansa said, turning toward the east.

Coming out of the forest was a host with horns blasting long loud notes.

"My Lady!" Gendry moved his horse up close to the wolf, unsheathing his sword. "Make for the wall."

"No. That is not the flayed man." Sansa urged the wolf she rode upon forward. "That is a giant with broken chains on flame red. That's the Umbers."

"There is another red sigil there, my Lady." Gendry called, squinting at it. "Something silver."

"A fist?"

"I think so,"

"The Glovers."

"There are dozens more, Sansa. The whole North except the stupid turncloak Boltons!"

Gendry turned to look at Sansa where she sat, covering her mouth.

"You sent word to all great lords of the North?"

"Yes, we sent word from Greywater Watch to every family save Boltons, Hornwood, Greyjoys, Dustins, Ryswells, and Karstarks."

"Are they here to support us?"

"We shall see." Sansa said, moving forward toward them.


	58. Brienne VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A tearful reunion will be had, I have no doubt."

Brienne stood resplendent in her blue armor as rewards were being handed out to various lords. Lord Edmure Tully was renamed as Lord Paramount of the Trident and given back Riverrun. Lord Tyrion was, of course, to inherit inherit Casterly Rock. The rewards carried on and on. Brienne eventually stopped listening.

She had not seen Jaime for several days. He had retreated somewhere within the castle with Lady Margaery and the former King Tommen. They only appeared when summoned, and the queen had little desire to see them. Jaime always began their meetings the same way, by taking his knees and asking the queen to allow Cersei to go to Casterly Rock where she would be of no threat to anyone. Lord Tyrion Lannister never said of word of praise for his sister; he never said a word period in these times. He just looked away from his brother.

"Lady Brienne of Tarth, step forward."

Brienne moved before the steps that led up to the Iron Throne.

"Is there any way to repay the service you have done me?"

"I have only one request of Your Grace." Brienne unsheathed her sword and knelt, leaning on the blade slightly.

"You have but to name it, my Lady."

"I ask for the right to kill the false king Stannis Baratheon."

Daenerys sat up straighter in her chair, looking Brienne over appraisingly.

"Why would you wish this?"

"He killed my—liege lord, his own brother, in cold blood. I would see justice for this evil deed so shamefully carried out under cover of darkness." She remembered the evil shadow that crept up the wall of the tent and destroyed Renly. She held Renly as he died.

"You shall have your vengeance, Lady Brienne. I shall be journeying north soon to deal with this Stannis for myself. You shall bring me the false king's head. He lived in my castle far too long and would steal my chair."

"No greater honor or reward could be bestowed upon me, Your Grace."

"Your loyalty to me is credit to you. That you would ask a reward that is more service to me is a great honor."

Brienne rose to her feet, sheathing her sword.

"Lord Clegane, step forward."

Brienne turned to watch one of the few men in Westeros who was taller than she walk to the throne. He was ugly as she was, yet Lady Sansa looked softly upon him. She was a true lady, a perfect lady.

"Your service to me and to my people has been more than I could have believed of a member of your family, considering the history between our houses. What would you ask in thanks for your service?"

"I would ask return the steel to Lady Sansa Stark which was her Father's."

"What blade is this?"

"Valyrian steel stained red with a gold and ruby lion hilt."

"I am familiar with it. Ser Barristan, present the blade to Lord Clegane that it might be returned to its proper owner."

Ser Barristan walked toward Clegane, carrying a sheathed blade with both hands. He presented it to him. Clegane grasped the weapon and slung the strap of the hilt over his shoulder.

"Lady Brienne, Lord Clegane. We depart for the when the sun sets. Be at the docks aboard my ship and ready to sail. I will not rest till the last would be usurpers to the throne are destroyed."

Clegane nodded, walking swiftly from the throne room without a backward glance.

"I shall be on time, Your Grace."

Daenerys waved a hand to dismiss her, and Brienne left.

It was still mid morning. She wandered without purpose through the castle, wondering where Jaime was. She would say goodbye before going to the docks on the same bay horse he gave her what felt like a lifetime ago.

A sudden movement caught her eye. A man in a long, hooded robe slipped through an open door. A gold gleam like metal from near his right hand caught her eye, and she moved to follow him. That was the way to the dungeons, the dungeons where the former queen Cersei was being held for the undetermined future.

She followed along behind remembering how Tyrion Lannister had managed to escape from the same cells not so far in the past. She would best serve the queen by ensuring that the Lannister woman did not escape. It was her duty to the queen.

Moving on silent feet, she remained in the shadows behind the light of the torch carried by the robed man in front of her.

She descended farther till the only light came from the torch of the man in front of her.

"Cersei. Cersei?"

"Jaime! Jaime, here."

Brienne slid back deeper into the shadows, keeping a hand on the railing of the steps so she could take the steps somewhat swiftly without having a source of light to guide her.

"I knew I would find you."

"I knew you would come for me."

"How could I not come to see you, Sister?"

"I love you, Jaime. I love you. I love you."

"I came to tell you that I will not see you again. Tommen, Tyrion, and myself will be journeying to Casterly Rock tomorrow."

"Jaime, you can't leave me."

"I do not have much choice in the matter, Sister."

"You have to help me."

"The queen has refused my entreaties on your behalf, and I have not been summoned to her presence in many days. She has no taste for mercy for the woman who sat her chair when she entered the throne room. Tyrion will say nothing for you, and I think you know why."

"Help me. You must make him help me."

"I helped someone escape these cells once, Love. I owed Tyrion a debt that I could never pay, and I owe him again. He is the only person who truly loves me. I don't deserve it, but he loves me anyway. I will repay him for what I did. I can do no less." Jaime's voice was soft and defeated and deadened.

"Jaime, how can you say that? He killed Joffrey. He killed my son."

"Your son," Jaime said, his voice still quiet and dead like it had been in the baths when he told her what the Mad King had intended to be theb fate of the inhabitants of King's Landing with soldiers converging upon them. "He did not. Petyr Baelish killed Joffrey, and Baelish is now dead. You knew Tyrion did not do it, and continued attacking him. Why do you hate him so? Why have you used me so? How many, Cersei? How many times did you betray me after whispering words of endless love and devotion?"

"I never betrayed you."

"You're the biggest whore in the seven kingdoms. How many men have you fucked? How many lies have you told me? You told me a thousand. I think that is the only truth you have spoken to me."

"Jaime, please. I need you. Please."

"You needed me when I was whole, when I could wield a sword for you. As soon as I could not, you sent me from your presence like a diseased servant. You sent me a letter asking me to come and fight for you, knowing I could have no chance at all against any opponent. You wanted to kill me."

Brienne began backing carefully up the stairs. She should not be listening to this. It was none of her business. Jaime would be furious if he knew she was here.

"Jaime, that is not true."

"I have a debt to pay to my loyal sibling. Goodbye, Cersei."

Brienne fled up the stairs, wishing she could block out the screams of the woman locked in the dark cell below.

"I slept with them, and I liked it!"

She should have left immediately. But Jaime had helped someone escape in the past from the dungeon. It was not unreasonable to suppose that he might help another family member if he could get away with it.

She shoved open the door to daylight.

"My Lady."

She turned, wishing she had more a talent for hiding her feelings in her expressions.

"Ser Jaime."

"Did you enjoy that?" His green eyes were flashing furiously. "Spying on me?"

"I heard nothing, Ser. Not a thing. I know nothing at all." She could not look into his handsome, furious, broken face with what she had heard.

"I hope your memory does not come back to you all of a sudden in the presence of Her Grace."

"I heard nothing, my Lord."

"I shall thank the seven for your temporary deafness." He moved closer to her. "Tyrion, Tommen, and myself leave for Casterly Rock at first light, my Lady. I shall be kept as a ward in the home of my birth till the day of my death. At least, my son does not have to die. I thought for sure she would kill him."

"You saved her brother and nephew."

"More like I did not help them die. They may yet be dead for all I know."

Brienne shifted some. "I leave for the North tonight to finish the last business I have as a member of Renly's Rainbow Guard."

"What would that be?"

"Killing the man who killed Renly."

"We shall be parting ways then." Jaime said, motioning as they walked down the hall.

"Yes, but I know where to look for you when I finish this last task I have before me, Ser. We shall likely bring Lady Sansa to her husband."

"A tearful reunion will be had, I have no doubt."

Brienne almost wanted to hit him. She knew that there was nothing to be done for it. Her Grace might demand Sansa be returned. Sansa would have her choice taken from her again.

"We shall see each other again, Ser Jaime. I am certain."

"It shall be something to look forward to. Precious little as there is for me now." He took her hand gently in his and kissed it softly. "I must bid you farewell and finish my packing now, my Lady. I have no doubt that you will annihilate the man who killed your king. I hope you come and tell me the story in person before I have to hear the exaggerations the singers will dream up."

"Until we meet again, Ser." Brienne said, inclining her head softly as he released her hand.

"May it be soon." Jaime bowed his head.

He turned and walked swiftly down the hallway. Her hand tingled, and she pressed it to her cheek. She hardly knew what to think. She cared for Jaime deeply. She wished they were not to be parted again.

She moved quickly. She had no time to dwell on these things. She needed to gather her bag and get down to the docks. They were sailing for the wall. She would avenge Renly. She had waited for far too long. After she had her revenge, she would see Ser Jaime again. He was not the man she had so long thought him to be. He was not the man she met in the dungeons of Riverrun either. He was changing.


	59. Sansa XVIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Perhaps history may find an easier path with the future generation than what was had by our parents."

Sansa shifted, squinting at the glint in the distance. They were less than a day's journey from the wall. It was an amazing vision. The wall was truly marvelous, and she would soon meet its protectors, the protectors of the Realm.

Sansa rode atop Nymeria quietly among the Northern Lords, greeting them with gentle words. They all greeted her quietly with words of condolences and bowed heads. She knew every lord's face here and knew which ones were missing.

"My Lady."

Sansa looked over at Hother Umber. He was a large man, like all Umbers. It was said that the blood of giants flowed in their veins. She wasn't sure she believed it. Large as he was, she knew the Mountain had been larger, and she felt sure that Sandor was also slightly bigger. She would go to Sandor as soon as she knew it was safe.

"My Lord."

"My brother is Lord of Last Hearth, my Lady."

Sansa nodded to the large man, resting a hand over her heart. The wind was bitingly cold and seemed to sink through all the layers of wool and fur she wore as if it was barely more than southron silks. She would be so much warmer if she just had Sandor here.

"We will rescue him from the Twins and make the Freys pay for every northman they betrayed and murdered. I will have my brother's body back and see it properly interred beside all the Northern Kings of Winter."

"And Lord Roose Bolton?"

"All the betrayers of House Stark will pay the traitors' debt. I may never have seen my father dispense justice in the name of the king before, but I do know the penalty as surely as my brothers did." Sansa felt sick as she remembered the first beheading she ever witnessed, her father's. She was not sure she would be able to watch another. But Roose Bolton deserved it for what he did to her brother. He deserved to suffer.

Arya rode ahead that morning to speak with their brother. Her heart felt trepidation for how Jon Snow might greet her. She had never treated him as kindly as she should have. Her stomach soured as she remembered how she had so often corrected her sister by calling Jon her half brother. She had taken her mother's side of the issue of Jon. She hoped he would forgive her.

"My Lady, we have a turncloak in our custody, a certain boy who was once the ward of House Stark after his father started a rebellion."

Sansa straightened and turned to the other man. Her father had only had one ward, the man who killed her little brothers.

"Are you saying that you have Theon Greyjoy?" How was it possible?

"Yes, my Lady. He was captured by the Bastard of Bolton, and we have since taken him into our care. Would you care to look upon him?"

Sansa felt herself tremble. She was not sure she wanted to see the man who killed her brothers. Leaning forward, she wrapped her arms around Nymeria. It was such a comfort to have the large wolf with her. She was not as lovely as Lady had been.

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to think on the man who had unseated Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard all that time ago. She remembered what she said, 'I knew the Hound would win.' He had been magnificent. Course, unrefined, brutish, and harsh with his words, but very skilled with lance and sword as she had seen throughout the tourney. She had been able to understand why he was the sworn shield of the prince, a prince who could only ever endeavor to deserve such a loyal and powerful guard.

"I will wait until I am reunited with my brother and sister to look into the traitor's eyes." She would prefer to wait till she had Sandor with her, but there was no time to wait for such things. The longer she delayed, the greater his chances were of escaping. "I shall go to her immediately."

"We shall prepare an escort for you, my Lady."

"Yes, of course." Sansa said, shifting a little and sitting up on the wolf. She shifted as the man walked a short distance away and shouted.

She had Theon Turncloak, the man who killed her brothers. This was the first man who had harmed her family that she had located and had in her power. It was not the one she most desired to see punished, but he was up near the top. She just did not know if she would be able to carry out the proper northern punishment. She had been raised in the same house with him. She knew him well. He used to tease her about Father marrying her to him, especially after he would pull some joke on her. He liked to make her mad. It was only after she stopped becoming angry at him that he stopped most of his teasing.

She turned toward the wall.

"Let's go, Nymeria. Let's find Arya and Jon."

Nymeria pitched her head back and howled a long eerie crescendoing note before bursting to a run, leaving the lords of the north behind. The wind whipped her hair as Nymeria raced over the snow faster than any horse could run in such conditions. She needed Jon. Jon would know what to do.

"Jon!" She called out for him as she continued flying over the snow. "Jon!"

Nymeria pulled up a moment later. She snarled at the copse of trees in front of them. Her muscles tensed as the hair on her neck rose and her ears flattened on her head.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

Sansa felt her stomach drop as she saw a number of men emerge from behind trees, all wearing the flayed man of the Dreadfort.

"A little wolf bitch out for a ride." The man who spoke had eerily pale eyes and an ugly smile on his lips. "The older wolf thinks to incite my vassals against me and start a war. Well, Bitch, I would think again. You can come and join your meek sister in bedding the Heir to the North. Father will be delighted to see you."

"I should be delighted to see Lord Bolton." Sansa said, shifting a bit on the wolf. "Unfortunately, at the moment I must decline his invitation. I have pressing business."

The man withdrew his sword and glowered long at the other men. He dismounted his horse and moved slowly toward her, keeping both of his eyes locked on the wolf. "On your hands and knees. You're much prettier than your sister. Are you a screamer?"

Sansa shifted back. She should never have run off without an escort. She had only thought to get to Arya and Jon as quickly as she could. She needed them with her—especially with so great a traitor to her family so close. Jon would know what to do. Jon had been quiet and thoughtful.

WHOOSH.

Nymeria let loose a ferocious snarl as the tree nearest the Bastard of Bolton burst into flame. He whipped back from it falling into the snow to snuff out the golden flames that lit the edges of the tunic covering his armor.

The horses burst to flight carrying the other Boltons away swiftly as they bugled their fright.

"What kind of Lord attacks a defenseless Lady?"

An enormous winged creature landed in the snow at Nymeria's side. The wolf did not give attention to the creature.

Sansa stared at them. It was a dragon. Dragons were dead, but this creature was clearly alive. Smoke belched from its belly and left through its nostrils and mouth. The snow around the creature's feet melted to puddles.

The boy looked to be a few years older than she was. Brilliant shoulder length silver hair caught the breeze. His armor—Sansa stared at the three headed dragon upon it. Some long lost Targaryen? His violet eyes looked her over with gentleness.

The boy slid down the side of the pearl colored dragon. Sansa dismounted Nymeria as well, noticing how the wolf growled. He bowed his head softly to her for a moment.

A bellow of rage sounded.

"I'll gut you for this, you little shit!"

Sansa turned and grasped a handful of Nymeria's fur.

The boy withdrew his sword and stepped forward, catching the blade of the other man and deflecting it easily. They danced in the snow to the tune of the clash of steel. A soft rumble distracted Sansa, and a soft nudge knocked her gently against Nymeria. She turned to see the large dragon looking at her softly with a gentle look of devotion. She reached out cautiously to it as it moved its nose to nudge her hand.

"Nice Dragon." She spoke softly, and the dragon closed its eyes peaceably reclining and wiggling its wings.

Nymeria growled low in her throat at the beast.

"I don't think he'll hurt me, Nymeria."

A loud scream drew her attention back to the clashing swords. She wished Sandor was here. He was the finest fighter in all the Seven Kingdoms. He would never hurt her.

Scarlet shot from the arm of the Bastard of Bolton and his sword lay in the snow with his forearm and hand still attached to it. The silver haired, dragon armored knight thrust his sword forward into the other's chest. The bastard fell to his side in the snow.

Sansa turned into Nymeria, even as the dragon continued nudging her hand and rumbling softly.

"Are you injured, my Lady?"

Sansa turned to the boy. He was quite handsome in the face. His eyes were intense as he bowed his head to her. He took her hand gently and kissed it.

"I am well. I thank you for the rescue." She shifted a bit. She was not sure she had needed rescue. Nymeria would likely have been able to destroy the one, but the sword could have killed her.

"It is the duty of a King to see to the safety of every lady in his realm."

Sansa shifted. Another king? How many kings would she have occasion to know? Robert, Joffrey, Tommen (though he had only been a prince when they knew each other), Renly Baratheon proclaimed himself King, Robb had been crowned King of the North. She might tentatively classify Petyr Baelish as the King of Lies. There was the dragon queen who called all the Westlands and Riverlands to her army. Who was this new king?

"I don't believe we are acquainted," she paused a moment before adding, "Your Grace."

"I am Aegon VI of House Targaryen, son of Prince Rheagar and Princess Elia of Dorne, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and I mean to reclaim my birthright. May I request the honor of an introduction to the lady I have just rescued?"

Sansa shifted nervously. She could not tell them that she was, by name, if nothing else, Lady Lannister. Her 'good' sister was sitting the Iron Throne, was sitting in his chair. He might think her a valuable hostage. Would he know the old houses of Westeros. It seemed impossible that he would not know the history of what cost his father his life. She could no more introduce herself as Sansa of House Stark than she could as a Lannister.

"If I was to make a guess based on your beast, I would call you a Lady of House Stark."

Sansa trembled a little.

"It's alright. I do not begrudge the Starks anything. We Targaryens are not the butchers that the Lannisters are. We do not kill innocents who were not born when wars of the past were waged. Might I inquire as to your destination? Not many ladies travel so near the Wall."

Sansa shifted some. Her eyes were wide. She did not know which was worse, to have been caught by the Boltons or this strange new prince—though he had saved her. Nymeria sniffed at him and the hair gradually lay back on her neck and her ears perked up though she remained watchful. The dragon continued moving its head under her hand where it rested on its nose.

"I dare say you know the Lannisters well from the look in your eyes as I say the word. I have met a Lannister. He is not what I would have thought. He is not a bad man, though he has suffered much evil, not unlike us all at this time." He cradled her hand close.

"I was journeying to the wall. My brother is there. I need him."

"You are sister to Lord Commander Jon?"

Sansa's eyes were wide as she looked at him. How did he know that?

"His other sister arrived at the wall recently and said that the other was on her way. She had many interesting tales to tell. Tales well worth investigation. Allow me to escort you the remainder of the journey, my Lady. As you can see, the woods are full of dangers."

"I would be honored, Your Grace."

Aegon offered his hand to her.

"My dragon will get us there more swiftly than you can imagine, with just a few flaps of his wings. He is quite fond of you."

Sansa smiled a little at him as he helped her mount the creature. The dragon turned his neck and looked at her, giving a soft chirp.

"Nice Dragon."

"I assure you, all dragons these days are good and will do no harm to you."

"I thank you for the sentiment. I have found that lions are dangerous and roses have thorns. If a dragon and wolf can have a true friendship, it brings me joy."

"Perhaps we have more than just friendship, my Lady. I hope you will allow me to share a story with you at evening meal tonight. I dare say your sister will have some information to add and your brother should enjoy the hearing of it all. I would also cherish the opportunity to better know so beautiful a lady. Perhaps history may find an easier path with the future generation than what was had by our parents."

Sansa nodded.

"Dracarys." Aegon said, pointing at the corpse.

A burst of golden flames engulfed the body of Ramsay Bolton.

"Let's fly."

Sansa gasped, falling back against the chest and in the arms of the prince, Aegon VI, if he was to be believed. He wrapped his arms around her securely, and urged the dragon higher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all readers and reviewers. It means so much to me that you keep reading.


	60. Sandor XIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you do not deserve to give her a smile, what right do you have to make her cry?"

Sandor stood at the front of the boat and sighed for what felt like the millionth time. He could not wait to be off this wretched vessel. They were sailing along the Northern shores toward the Wall. The thing to be most thankful for was that the dragon provided steady propulsion every day and the current that ran up this side of Westeros was strong. In the distance, an island with jagged cliffs loomed ominously to the east.

Skagos, if the captain was to be believed. Many fine ships and fine sailors had been claimed by those cliffs and the waves that crashed upon them. To have come so far north already was something of a miracle. He lifted his hands to his cloak, feeling the lovingly made stitches. Sansa. He would have Sansa back soon. He wished to greet her with kisses and embraces and more. He would have to return her to the Imp. However, he would not take her against her will, no matter what the queen commanded. Sansa would not be made miserable. She deserved happiness.

Sandor tucked his cloak about him more securely, revelling in the bracing, cold, salty air of the sea. He had missed the sea air in a way. It helped him heal not so very long ago. It healed him as much as the heart of the woman to whom he now returned. It brought her to him, and now was taking him to her. He removed his glove and removed the thin ribbon that was tied around the precious gift he had found in his pocket after the Little Bird had sped away on a wolf. He brushed his fingers over it gently, a lock of shining auburn hair. He kept it close to him.

"So you are returning to Lady Sansa?"

He sneered at the large wench, tucking the lock of hair back into his wrist brace. She was more suited to him in appearance, right down to her hideous facial scars, than Sansa would ever be. Sansa was the most beautiful woman to ever live and breath. She had been beautiful forever and would be longer. Any man would return to Sansa at her first call. Her words before and after she kissed him rang through his heart, calling him.

"She is a fine lady."

Sandor glowered at her. Would she just shut up and leave?

"And I am a dog, I know. She has no business with a dog except one that begs at her feet, but she commanded her dog return to her." He growled, resisting the urge to bark at the wench that Sansa said she loved him. She loved him, not Lord Imp, not a prince, not a high lord. He had given her his cloak before it was ever entertained as a notion by the Lannister dwarf. "A dog obeys his mistress."

"You credit yourself too little."

Sandor growled. Why was she here bleating at him? He did not need this.

"Lady Sansa does not see you as a dog. She will not hear anyone call you a hound. She loves you, and you love her. Most lords and ladies do not have such strong emotion for each other. Stop acting like you do not deserve her love. Maybe you do. Maybe you don't. Maybe knowing you don't deserve so much as her eyes upon you makes you deserving. Can't it be enough that your feelings and desires match hers? I have felt love, and I know it when I see it."

"You don't know me, wench. And you do not know what she has been through." Sansa may think she had feelings for him. But he had failed her in the past. It made him sick. She deserved a man who had not stood and allowed her to be beaten, watched her stripped by a sick fuck of a prince.

Sandor glowered at the wench. Pretty ladies did not marry their mongrels. At best, they dropped scraps under the table for such a creature, and the dog eagerly accepted, licking the floor clean and hoping for a pat on the head.

Sansa should have a prince, a prince who could truly love her and never fail her.

"If you do not deserve to give her a smile, what right do you have to make her cry?"

Sandor glowered at her back as she walked away. She did not know anything. He had made the little bird cry, and doused the light of the torch that forced him to see her tears. He wanted to scare her, so she would know the dangers she yet then refused to see. She could see horrors that happened by looking at his face. Horrors done by family as he shared his story with her.

He remembered Joffrey's offer to him that day they first arrived in Winterfell. The boy had cared for Sansa as much as he cared for the fawn the Prince Tommen took to raise—the creature he killed to make a jerkin. Joffrey had told him that he could have her some day if she pleased him. He had not been able to take his eyes off her in the yard, and she had not been able to look on him. He wanted to press his face to her neck.

He was about to wander down into the hold of the ship for a fresh skin of wine, though he had barely touched the one he had in his hand when a howl penetrated the silence of the night. He squinted into the sea and could make out a small boat in the waves. All he could see was a dog like shape with its head pitched back. The howl grew louder.

"BOAT!" Sandor shouted, pointing toward the wolf. A wolf. It was not possible. Wolves did not ride in ships. This was insane. He had not had that much to drink. He dropped the skin on the deck and squinted at the boat.

"Make him quiet, Boy."

"Shaggy, quiet, Shaggy."

"BOAT!" Sandor rasped, pointing toward the wolf shape. He squinted in the pale light of the rising moon and the red comet at the shapes. There were three humans in the boat, two adults and a child and the wolf.

He remembered with a jolt the pretty little wolf Sansa had at her side the day he had first approached her, meaning to help her see what she refused to see as she looked upon Ser Ilyn. He had not meant to touch her, but he had. She was slight under his hands. He knew he could have crushed her small form easily. He had just hoped for a few pretty words, such as she had given every one else she spoke with among the royal party of travelers. Instead, she sank to her knees which irritated and aroused him in equal portions. He had not known when he looked down at her that he would soon face his brother to save a boy who had been foolish enough to play a trick upon the Mountain. She was who he looked upon as he rose after kneeling at the King's command.

He shook the clouds from his thoughts to bring himself back to the present. The Stark children had all had wolves. He remembered. No other house would dare to keep such beasts as pets.

"Get them aboard!"

Sansa would never believe such a thing unless it was brought to her. It would give her a pleasure she never could have anticipated if the boy was who he looked to be. The wolf bitch might even be pleased as well, if she was ever pleased about anything. Sansa was getting her family back. Soon she would have no need for her dog, or time to give him affection.


	61. Jaime VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misery to be with the one he loved without truly being with her.

Jaime sighed as he stared at the stony northern shore and watched as Bear Island faded from view. This was why Stark was so miserable. The North was bleak, cold, and tragic. No one could live here and smile, not that he had spent much time smiling since he left Cersei. It was all he could do. 

He would always love her, but he could not save her. He did not think she would wish to be saved. She would prefer to die the queen of the seven kingdoms than be with him and their children. He had saved of her what he could, the two best creations of hers and his. He had to live for his son and daughter, and for his honor. He would remain with Sansa until her home was hers again if he was allowed, and it was her wish.

"You are sure that Her Grace will not be too annoyed with us." Jaime shifted, wondering what Brienne would think to find him returned. He had thought briefly that she meant to come to him after avenging the killer of her King. Silly notion. He would be glad for her company, but there was nothing he could offer her.

"I told you, dear brother. We are to meet Stannis and immobilize him by preventing any escape."

"This is foolishness." Jaime ducked as a large green dragon swooped overhead, sending out a blast of fire, melting a large chunk of ice that had been drifting toward them. "That fucking beast is going to incinerate this ship eventually. A ship is wood, and wood burns."

"Many things burn. But that beast will not burn this ship. He listens as it suits him. It was my plan, Jaime. Once Stannis is defeated, we shall have the dragon Queen as our ruler."

Jaime looked over at his brother and sighed. He shook his head. This was madness. He was not sorry to have his brother back, nor was he sorry to be sailing north. If Sansa was where Tyrion said she was, he hoped to be the first to bring her news of what the dragon queen had done to Petyr Baelish. He had seen the spectacle from his window. It had been as repulsive and loathsome as it had been fascinating. He had not been able to look away as the dragon savored what its mistress had sent.

Maybe she could give him some fresh task that would prevent his going too mad over the loss of his sister that was soon to occur in body. In truth, he thought he lost her a long time ago, though he knew not when it happened for certain. Maybe when he returned without his right hand. Maybe when he ran off to attack Ned Stark for kidnapping his brother. Maybe when he pushed the Stark boy out the window. Maybe when he allowed their father to marry her to Robert Baratheon. He should have run away with her the same as the Prince Rhaegar had with Lyanna Stark. He would have been willing to go with her anywhere and live anywhere. She had said that she would marry Robert and be queen. Queen was all she had ever wanted, all she ever loved. It had brought her nothing but misery. He had joined her misery. Misery to be with the one he loved without truly being with her.

"What do you intend to do with Lady Sansa when you find her?"

"Divorce her if it should be her pleasure. Should be simple enough with a marriage that was never consummated. I imagine her Grace will consent. Sansa will never love me, no matter how I tried. I tried to please her and was always good to her, but she wanted nothing to do with me. It was not her fault, not really. I was all wrong to her eyes. Even being the lowest of the Lannisters, I was still a Lannister. And a Lannister took her father and constantly ordered her beaten."

"I have heard all the stories of what Joffrey did to her, and what you did not do to him."

Tyrion did not respond.

"Will you fly with me Brother?"

"I have flown before."

"But only as a prisoner."

"I remember you saying that a dragon was what you wanted for your nameday one year."

"Yes, and now I have a dragon of a sort."

"I do not suppose there is an honorable way out."

"Not really." Tyrion was grinning.

"Then I accept."

"We are also seeking to secure a hold on Jon Snow, to make sure that he is safe should we arrive at Castle Black before Her Grace."

"Jon Targaryen, as he will be soon enough."

"Yes, Jon Targaryen. I know the lad. He had a great deal of potential."

"As you always did. You are more suited to being Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West and Hand of the King, hell, even the king if the queen would marry you."

Tyrion laughed.

"On the Iron Throne, you would sit tall as any of them. You cast a long shadow, brother."

"So I have heard on occasion, Jaime."

"I am glad Tommen will have you to guide him and help him. You are a better man than I."

"You are your own kind of man which is honorable and good in its own way."

Jaime nodded, remembering his words to Lady Catelyn while he had been chained up in Riverrun's dungeon and when she had kicked his own bucket of shit at him. _There are no men like me. There's only me._ He had been far gone in his wine and half mad in that lowest of the seven hells. He was not built to be caged, and a year long imprisonment had driven him mad. He had hoped that she would strike him down, to set him free—death was better than a cell.

Tyrion moved toward the side of the boat where a portion of railing had been knocked out.

"Come Brother, time to fly."

Jaime felt trepidation and a slight sickness in his stomach as he remembered his last flight. Tyrion held up a stubby arm and called out some Valyrian words Jaime no longer remembered, despite being forced to rigorously study it by his father. He had never excelled at reading and languages. Tyrion had always been the smart one.

The dragon banked hard to left and swung around flapping its large wings till it was flying low right beside the boat.

Tyrion back up a few paces and ran to the edge, leaping and doing a somersault before he landed on the back of the dragon.

"Join me, Jaime."

Jaime stared at the large eye of the beast, watching him. Smoke trickled from its jaws. No time like the present. Nothing to do for it but make a leap.


	62. Sansa XIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tell his Grace, King Aegon, that it is time to see what that dragon of his can do."

Sansa took the prince's hand as he helped her down from the dragon.

"Where's Jon?" she asked, looking about for him. Where was her brother? Surely, surely he would come to greet her. She looked around at the men practicing in the yard with blunted swords who had all stopped to stare at her.

She shifted a bit closer to Aegon, remembering how men in the Red Keep had changed as she had grown and remembering the way Petyr looked at her. She recognized hints of that in these men. The Night's Watch was manned mostly with criminals who had a choice between death and the Wall usually.

"A Lord is up in his solar, Sansa."

Sansa turned at the voice. She walked quickly toward her sister who was dressed in men's clothing and had a sword hanging by her waist. She blinked back tears. She had thought Jon would greet her. He had no reason to do so.

"Will he see me, Arya?"

"Why would Jon not want to be sure you are safe?" Her tone was almost a touch bratty like the Arya Sansa remembered. The address of 'stupid' seemed to be something she wanted to say. "He is your brother. Just like Robb and Bran and Rickon were."

Sansa shifted. Her constant treatment of him as her inferior. Now, she was his inferior. At least here. He was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. The way she had treated him had surely not made her one of his more loved siblings. She felt certain that if Arya had been in danger, and Jon knew how to rescue her, he would waste no time in going. If it was her, she could make no claim that he would come—nor that she had ever given him any reason to come to her.

"Do please excuse me. I long to see my brother dearly, Your Grace."

"I hope to see you this evening for dinner." He took both her hands, bowing and kissing them.

"Of course, Your Grace." Sansa bobbed a curtsy to the prince. "Will you take me, Arya?"

"This way."

Sansa felt dread and sickness and shame and longing fill her stomach. It was almost enough to cause everything to roil up from its depths. What if Jon hated her?

"Arya, I should not wish to disturb him or take him from his duties unnecessarily. I can wait until he summons me."

"A Lady's brother would want to see her right away."

Sansa cringed a little. She had always insistently called Jon her half brother. She could see the anger and the hurt in her mother over Jon being raised in Winterfell as one of her father's children. It would have been better to have trusted her mother with the truth. She would have been able to love and appreciate Jon better. Mayhaps she would not have insisted that he be sent to the Wall when her father left, had she known the truth.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Arya said, looking over at her. "A brother would not hurt his sister. Jon has always thought of you as his sister."

"I would never demean him by allowing such a low thought to pass my mind. However, Jon and I—we were not close, Arya. I was—I did not treat him as I should have. He was my brother, and I was never as kind to him as I ought to have been."

"Jon will just be glad to see that you are well. It was what he first asked me when I arrived was if I knew of you. You'll see. He asked that you be brought to him the moment that you arrived."

Sansa pressed her hands more tightly over her stomach. She knew Jon would not be cruel or send men to drag her to his presence or beat her for how she had been to him. She had never been good to him and was coming to him for help and protection. He had every right to turn her away or give her to Aegon or Stannis or whomever else might be here that he chose. He had no reason to help her. She had nothing to offer him.

"Just go right in," Arya said pointing. "Jon wanted to talk to you alone."

Sansa stared at the door nervously. She cautiously raised her hand and knocked.

"Come in."

She pushed the door in gently and stood in the doorway. There was a man dressed in bones standing in front of Jon's desk. He looked her over.

Sansa fought the urge to shy away from him. He was clearly a wildling, and he was not who he seemed. So long at court had taught her that much, to see past certain illusions.

"We'll finish later?" He left the room quickly, bowing his head to Sansa, though offering her a roguish smile.

Sansa stared at him, a creepy feeling seeping into her stomach that she had seen him before several times, even dreamed of him once, standing over her bed in Winterfell. He was not who he seemed to be. Her eyes followed him suspiciously. She felt glad that Jon was there.

"Sansa, I am glad to see you." Jon made to move around his desk to lead her into the room.

Sansa moved to him quickly. She moved to her knees the way she had only once before to plead for something. She had asked for her father to be shown mercy, and the wormy-lipped prince claimed he had done so by giving him a swift death.

Jon stopped and stared at her. His Stark eyes seemed so soft as he looked down at her. At least, they seemed so, and they reminded her of Father.

"Sansa."

Sansa took his hand as tears came to her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Jon. I was terrible to you. I'm so sorry. I know it does not make it better, but please—" She took his hand gently as he stood in front of her. She could feel scars on it. "Please forgive me. You are the only person I knew I could come to now."

"Sansa, it's alright." He reached down and took her shoulders, lifting her to her feet and drawing her close. "Be calm. No one will hurt you here. You and Arya are safe. I swear it by the old gods."

Sansa sobbed in his arms harder, clinging to him. Jon should punish her, smack her. He had right enough to do so. She had no reason or right to beg his protection. He ought to tell her what her father had always taught his children to know of the Night's Watch. They take no side in any war amongst the lords of the realm. They served a higher calling.

"Sit by the fire and calm yourself. I will do whatever I am able to help you."

Sansa allowed him to lead her gently, remembering briefly the words of the oath that the Night's Watch swore, words she had heard her uncle share with her brothers. He allowed her to continue holding his hand as they sat.

"It pleases me to see you looking relatively healthy and know you are alive. The last word I had of you was that you had disappeared. I feared the worst had happened."

"Worse than that. Death would have been a kindness, comparably. The man who betrayed Father to his fate kidnapped me. I thought I was being rescued and brought home to the North, but he took me to the Eyrie. Aunt Lysa tried to kill me, and then he pushed her out the moon door. He made me pretend to be his bastard daughter, made me call him father. After he killed our father."

"Who betrayed Father?" Jon's voice had become cold and his eyes angry.

Sansa leaned over on his chest. She wished Sandor was there to hold her, though Jon's comfort was good in the way Father's had always been.

"So many people. The lord commander of the City Watch, Janos Slynt, for one. But the man I speak of is Lord Baelish, who was the master of coin. Now, he is Lord Paramount of the Trident and Harrenhal. He is the worst man in the Kingdom, perhaps in the whole world."

Sansa wanted to cry harder and pressed her hands to her eyes to stop the flow of tears. She was so relieved, so happy that Jon was with her. He was like father, good to her no matter how she had been, determined to see her safe.

"I sent someone to bring him to me. I do not know what will happen, but I want justice for father and am trying to get it as best I am able." Sansa dried her eyes, taking a calming breath.

"What's happened to you, Sansa? What did they do to you?"

"They ordered Lady killed because Nymeria protected Arya from being stabbed by Joffrey. They made me watch Father while he was beheaded by Ser Ilyn Payne. They made me look upon Father's head on a spike. They beat me for Robb's victories over the Western Lords. They married me to Tyrion Lannister, with one of father's murderers playing the part of father as he said. He called Father's death a mercy. I asked him for mercy. On my knees, I begged him to be merciful to father. He said it was merciful to give him a quick death."

Jon moved close to her. He gathered her into his arms. It was like being held by Father. She sobbed harder.

"They will pay for what they have done," Jon said. He gathered her close. "I promise. They will pay for what they did to father."

"I've been so scared. The only person who tried to help me is in the south with a Targaryen, and what if the Targaryens fight each other? I can't lose him. I can't. He saved my life. He always saves me."

"Everything will be well, Sansa."

"I'm so sorry, Jon."

"All is forgiven. I want to dwell no more on what was. Let us focus on moving forward."

Sansa shifted closer to him.

"I'm glad to see you, Jon. Oh. The whole North and the Vale are journeying here. The Vale comes to join His Grace, King Aegon. The North came because I sent word."

"The whole North?"

"Not the whole, whole. All families too intimately connected with the Boltons, I did not inform of my coming. They shall have to pay. The North Lords. They have—they have captured Theon Greyjoy."

Jon shifted to his feet.

"I have not looked upon him. He killed Bran and Rickon. I was not sure what was to be done with him. I was not raised to make such decisions."

"Whatever you need, Sansa."

Sansa sniffed, fighting the urge to say that she needed Sandor. Jon would not like that. She was not sure how well he had known or would remember Sandor, but Sandor was changed. She still remembered when he moved out and told his brother to leave the boy alone.

"May I just stay here with you for a while? I will be quiet."

"Of course. I shall call for some tea for you. I have some things to see to on top of the wall. I will see that a guard is sent here to protect you. I would ask that you always remain with a guard I assign you while here. Not all men of the Watch are good."

"I understand. Thank you for being so good to me."

"If you feel better and able to talk about it, I should like to know more of what you have been through. It is important. You should not keep such horrors bottled up inside you."

"There are some things I should like to share with you. Things you should know. Things Arya and I have learned. I do not know how much they will mean in the end. What is done is done, but I remember you expressing an interest in the subject once."

"What subject?"

"Your mother."

"Did father tell you something?" Jon's eyes were wide.

"I think we should save this for when Arya is with us. She is the one who found the secret out at any rate. Perhaps His Grace would like to hear as well." She looked at Jon softly. It had been something of a shock that was not a total surprise after everything that she went through after Father's death. "Tonight, I promise."

"Father told me he would tell me about my mother when we saw each other next. That was the last time I saw him."

"The last thing I said to father was unkind and untrue. I was angry that he was taking me away from the prince who took his head. He said he would find me a good husband, someone brave and gentle and strong. I told him I did not want that. I wanted Joffrey and lovely blond haired babies."

"Sansa—" He pulled her close. "Sansa—it's not okay, but they will pay. You were not to know what beasts they were."

Sansa leaned against him.

"Jon, I need you. Don't send me away."

"I'll take care of you. You must stay with a guard that I assign to you. I will assign someone who will keep you safe. It is not safe for a lady to wander about unattended by trustworthy guards here."

"What about Arya? Is she safe?"

"Arya dispatched a man who tried to touch her, and since, the men have learned she is not an object of prey. I have two wildling women who have come to help guard the wall. I believe that you will be safest with them as your guards, spearwives."

"Yes, of course. I understand. Who was that man with the bones?"

"The Lord of Bones."

"No, he—I've seen him before. I know I have, Jon."

"You must keep your peace about it. He is needed alive on the Wall. He has been to Winterfell before. He was there when the King visited."

"He came to my room before he left. I thought it was some wild dream, brought on by all the singing and dancing and excitement. The last song I heard before I left for bed was about the Wildling who Kidnapped the Winterfell Princess."

"That's Mance Rayder, King beyond the Wall. He won't hurt you. He won't take you for his wife. You're already married, and that is all the protection that you need from a wildling kidnapping you."

Sansa nodded. "As you say. I shall leave you to your work, Brother. I have heard what is happening, bits and pieces of letters. I know it must be true, for you would not lie about such a thing." She wished she could just sit with Jon until Sandor came for her. She did not want to leave his side. He was the only man in the North that she could trust with no question.

"Would you prefer a quiet dinner here or to eat in the main hall?"

"I doubt I can long hide here, but it would be good if I was not too public. Though the army camped at Mole Town is surely vast enough to protect me from most anything, I have no idea what sort of cost they intend to impose upon me. I am a Lannister by marriage name. Whether my husband lives, I know not. The Lord Protector of the Vale wishes for my hand and my claim to Winterfell and the North. I do not know what my claim means to Prince Aegon, but he feels certain he can persuade my husband to divorce me. The Northern Lords may be here as much for a chance to fight Lord Bolton with right on their side as a chance to marry a Stark, a Stone, a Lannister. I do not know what they would think if they knew everything. I don't know what I think."

"Of course. I want you to keep yourself here in the Lord Commander's tower with me. There are two rooms here. I wish I could offer you more. You deserve more."

"It's wonderful, Jon. Perfect. You and Arya are here." She only needed one more person to be wholly content, and he would come as soon as he was able. She shifted a bit. At least, her last words to him had meaning. She made them count. She looked Jon over, wondering if he could be told about Sandor, wondering if Arya had said anything. "Jon, there is a..."

A loud banging at the door broke her from her thoughts and robbed her of the chance to even decide whether to speak of such things to Jon.

"Come in," Jon called.

"Lord Commander, white walkers are approaching the wall."

Sansa stood. She reached for Jon, taking his arm.

"Tell his Grace, King Aegon, that it is time to see what that dragon of his can do."

The boy who came in with the message raced off, and Jon turned to her.

"All will be well, Sansa." He went quickly to the desk and lifted a glimmering black object. "Take this. If one of those monsters comes toward you, you will know it by its icy, glowing blue eyes, Sansa. Pierce it with this dagger, and it will fall away and die."

BANG.

Sansa held in her cry as she turned toward the door with the dagger in her hand.

"My Lady, please, I would take you with me for this fight. You will be safest upon the back of Viserion with me." Sansa stared at the prince who had taken his knee before her. "A dragon is fire made flesh. These queer northern creatures cannot survive the flames, my Lady. I beg you come with me."

If she was to be safely returned to Sandor, she would have to survive this attack.

"Jon."

"It is your choice, Sister."

Sansa shifted a little. She could make good use of this situation, that was certain.

"The first thing we ought to do is fly and tell my army to pick up their pace as best they can and join us. We need every man." And Lord Hardyng seeing her with his prince might deter him from any of his idiotic plans of marrying her eventually. She would not marry him, no matter what aid he had given her. She could not make him happy. All the North was not enough to please him for long, and he would never be able to make her smile.

"An excellent plan. One we should quickly see to fruition, my Lady."

"We will speak of your mother, Jon, after we defeat the white walkers."


	63. Sandor XX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know what that is." He agreed. He reached for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to skip the battle. It was not really that relevant to the story. Hope that it's okay.

Sandor squinted at the sky. Her Grace had vanished some time ago on back of her enormous black beast. She had been staying away longer and longer. She said they would soon be meeting her nephew. He longed to ask her for news of Sansa, if she was there, safe and happy. He urged Stranger down the path adjacent to the Wall a little faster. He had ridden ahead of the other travellers several days ago as a scout. It was a relief in truth. He had not been able to stand their company another moment.

Sansa's brother, Rickon the wildling woman called him, was full of anger. He understood the boy and the comfort that came from training with sword and lance. When one defeated an opponent, it reminded the winner that he no longer had to be helpless against an agressor. Granted, Rickon's agressor was something less tangible than his had been. It was still a comfort to know that he need not be helpless. He could fight back. It was like looking into a tiny mirror, sometimes when the boy swung the practice wood swords. He hoped that Sansa would be able to comfort him. He had been growing up without a mother or a father for a long time. The armored wench had, at least, blessedly left him in peace since he had collected the boy. The boy had been a source of constant attacks. He would throw the boy back, training him with a sword, and he would return. It was a small kind of pleasure and strange to have to remind himself that he was teaching a boy how to fight and not fighting for his life or obeying orders to end life.

How many more days to Castle Black? He remembered something his mother used to tell him, when he was a little boy and his father would leave. Absence makes the heart love more and the moments more precious. But time could be a thief as well, though it had not yet taken Sansa from him.

He felt a twinge of fear, wondering if she might have found her prince. It was what she deserved, but in a selfish way, he still wanted to have her for himself. She said she thought about him every day while they were apart, but only in some wild fantasy would she chose a dog over a prince, her true prince. She was a true princess which would be seen even by a blind fool. It was when she was first reunited with him. She told him the dark stories of their time in King's Landing.

He urged the horse faster as he caught the scent of smoke on the wind. That wretched beast of the queen's radiated the smells of fire. He prayed to the gods that she would be in his sights in a minute. He slowed the horse as he saw the castle grow larger. He breathed out heavily.

"Where is the Lord?" he rasped to the men walking toward the castle gate. "Lord Snow?"

"Who asks for him?"

"Not your concern." Sandor glared at the man.

"We have enough trouble without fighting the living." A young man with dark curls and grey eyes walked toward him. "Hound."

Sandor turned to the man at the gate. He was carrying a sword topped with a small wolf head and sat atop a large horse.

"Who are you?"

"Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and I well remember you, Sandor Clegane, sworn shield to Joffrey, bastard of House Lannister. I remember how you stared at my sister when you first arrived at Winterfell."

"A bastard always knows their own." Sandor barked. He took notice of the thin cut on the Lord Commander's forehead and the dark circles under his eyes.

"What business do you have at the Wall?"

"I slipped the Lannister's collar long ago to run with a lady wolf."

"Speak sense." Lord Snow's voice was stern and his eyes were dark at his words.

"I serve Lady Sansa of House Stark as was. I sent her away for her safety to her brother, and I swore I would come back to her. Is she here?" Sandor glared at the boy. A boy was keeping him from her. A boy he could do nothing to harm. Sansa would never forgive him for taking a brother from her. He would not do anything that would knowingly harm her. She had been harmed too much.

"What proof is there that you serve my sister and are not here to kill her?"

Sandor fingered the red lock of hair brushing it with his thumb as he was wont to do.

"I have something of hers that you should recognize."

The boy, Lord Commander Snow, approached calmly. He did not even rest a hand on the hilt of his sword as he rode atop one of his smaller northern horses.

He cradled the lock of hair. Her scent still clung to it, a sweet floral fragrance. He could not wait to bury his nose in it completely as he had in private so often.

"Look. You know what this is."

The Lord stared at the lock of hair.

"I know what that is." He agreed. He reached for it.

"Where is she?" Sandor asked, tucking the precious lock of hair back into its safe place. The boy had to be crazy to think he would be allowed to take it. Sansa would likely want to see that he had kept the piece of her with him.

It had been a fine token from her, better than he ever thought himself deserving. He had been shocked by it at first. No woman had ever offered him a lock of her hair, nor had he ever asked for one. It was more of a silly tradition between a husband and wife, and she gave it to him.

"She rode to Mole Town with His Grace, Prince Aegon, to announce our hard won victory to the people. You may wait here or seek her with her army there. The path there will take you to Mole Town. If any harm comes to her by your hand, I will have your head."

"I will have her back here this evening. She will want to be. As will you." Sandor said with a glare. Lord Commander Boy would surely not object to him after Rickon arrived.

Sandor whipped around on Stranger and kicked him to a hard gallop. He would see her before the sun sank in the sky. She was so close, and he would have her back here for his surprise when it arrived. The wind stung his eyes a little as he squinted ahead of him through the trees. He would have her soon enough. It was almost an hour of hard riding later that he reached the outskirts of the camp and slowed his horse.

"My Lord? Sandor!"

He turned at the sound of his name and saw her. His little bird was atop a pretty dappled grey horse that stood between two finely dressed men, one in sky blue with thick blond hair and the other sat on a large white stallion and had eyes like amethysts and silver hair just like the dragon queen.

"You know him, my Lady?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Sansa urged her horse forward. She was not a great horsewoman and certainly not accustomed to such rough terrain, but she was beaming at him even as she was jostled horribly by the motion of her horse.

Sandor dismounted, moving quickly to her over the muddy earth. As soon as he reached her, he took her waist to help her from the horse. She wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing a little tighter and longer than what might be considered strictly appropriate.

"You've been making new friends." He kept his eyes locked on the men who were keeping jealous eyes locked on her. He took her hands gently in his and moved them down. No one wanted to see a lady hugging a dog. He wished he had found her alone as he had imagined it, being led to her room where her brother put her to keep her safe in Castle Black. She would welcome him and let her kiss him.

"Allow me to introduce Lord Protector of the Vale Harrold Hardyng and His Grace, Prince Aegon VI of House Targaryen." Sansa motioned to each of the other men in turn. "My Lord and My Prince, may I introduce Lord Sandor Clegane of the Westerlands, my closest friend and a man who has saved my life countless times.

Sandor brushed her hair back gently before taking his knee in front of her.

"My Lady."

Sansa tugged at him. He remained as he was. She had her prince. He had his place.

"The dragon queen is coming. Her dragon is a large creature."

"My Lord, please rise. Please."

Sandor clambered to his feet.

"Yes, she is here. She and her nephew are at peace."

"I best go to her and inform her of my arrival. I have much news for you, Little—my Lady." She could not be his little bird any longer. She was a great lady, and would be as she was born to be, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms most like if the prince married her. He was the Heir proper to the Iron Throne. "My husband is here as well and Ser Jaime."

"My Lady," the prince came close to them. He took Sansa's arm.

Sandor bristled, putting his hand to his sword as Sansa jerked a little. It was as if she did not wish to be touched. Considering how princes had ordered her handled in the past, it made sense. The boy was taking her. Though he was gentle, he was still a captor.

"It's alright, Sandor. His Grace has not harmed me."

Aegon, if that was who he really was and not some shit that looked reasonable in the right light, rubbed his thumb over Sansa's arm.

"My Lady, who is this—man?"

Sandor bristled a little, sensing the man had wished to call him something worse.

"I am this woman's sworn shield. I swore to protect her."

"Then how is it that I came upon her about to be attacked by a vicious man, intent on bringing her the greatest of harm? Where were you?" Aegon stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

Sandor looked down at Sansa looking for confirmation of this.

"The Bastard of Bolton attacked me on the way to the wall when I had broken from the main host to get to my brother more quickly. I had news that needed to be shared with him immediately. I had Nymeria with me and thought myself safe enough. She did scare off the men he had with him, but Ramsay needed more persuasion to leave me be, and His Grace arrived on a dragon and killed the man attacking me."

Sandor stared into her eyes as she spoke. He longed to take her close and cradle her and ask her to forgive him for leaving her. He should not have left her. She would never have been alone to be attacked if he had just stayed with her. He had been wrong to leave her. But he could not hold her right now. The boy was continuing to offensively keep a hand on her arm. He remembered cutting off a man's arm when he tried to seize the Little Bird.

He could not make that choice here. He was not surrounded by rats anymore. He might still be able to cut through them, but the risk to the little bird was high. They might both die together if he allowed his temper to take control.

"I'm well, my Lord. We did what was necessary. We had no choice."

She was safe, saved by her prince.

Sansa tugged her arm free of the prince and stepped closer to him.

"It makes my heart glad to see you, my Lord. Shall we walk together?"

That my Lord shit again. He had her calling him by name in his keep. He wanted her to call him by name. She had forgotten their—whatever nonsense she had fabricated with him in his miserable family home. She forgot she said she loved him. It had just been a spur of the moment spurt of the tongue. She was not able to act on her love, if it was real.

"As you wish," he growled. He looked away as she took the arm the prince offered, and the blond boy pressed a hand to hers. He wished he could slice the offending appendage away, removing the boy's head shortly after. That would only end in his execution, and Sansa would be miserable. She would lose prince and dog all at the same time. He would see what her wishes were on the matter.

"Will you ride with me back to the Wall tonight? I planned to take my meal with my brother, Lord Commander as he now is." Sansa asked, looking toward Sandor hopefully. "I want to be by your side."

"I am yours to command as ever, Lady Sansa."

She reached back and gripped his arm to pull him up next to her.

"It is well, my Lady. I know my place."

Sansa looked back at him, tugging her arm a little in the grip of Aegon's hand. The prince did not release her.

Sandor howled inside at the sight. She was his captive. It was his fault. He should have been with her. He had sent her from him. She would have been safe in the castle. The dragon wench never even went there, only sent a soldier there to ascertain the truth of his words and that the orphans had enough food. Now. Now, a new prince had taken her. He rescued her from danger just like a fucking song. She took his arm. How could she not love a man who came right out of one of her songs?

He bit back his words. He knew he should tell her of her brother being alive. But they were returning to the Wall that night anyway. She would find out without his telling her. He would leave and collect the boy. Perhaps he would join the Watch. He did not know if he could bear to watch her marry a prince.


	64. Sansa XX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So many cloaks given to me, _my_ Lord."

Sansa looked to her side as she rode back to the Wall. Sandor had gone almost entirely mute since meeting Aegon and sharing words with Queen Daenerys. He had only grunted in response to her first few attempts at conversation, and after his coldness, she had thought that he might be tired. Anyone would be tired after journeying from the South to the Wall, even if they traveled by sea.

There was so much to share with him. She could not wait till they were safely hidden in her room in the Lord Commander's chambers. She would be able to curl up in his arms and tell him everything that had happened. She would be able to lean close to him and hold his face and kiss his cheek.

She wondered if he knew how fond Her Grace was of him. She had spoken of a service he provided her with warmth, and that she was certain that he would love to tell her the story himself. She had mentioned the loyalty with which he had spoken of her. She said that no woman could have a more faithful companion.

She had known all this before, but to have it confirmed by another had been soothing in a way. It was a pleasure for him, to know that his abundance of fine qualities was recognized, whether he desired such recognition or not. It had given her hope that she might be able to approach the queen and have her intervene to prevent a marriage between Aegon and herself. The dragons always married each other. It seemed only right that the Queen marry the Prince. Then she would be free to marry whom she willed.

She shifted a little thinking about Aegon and looked to the sky where he rode the dragon, Viserion. The dragon was always kind to her, and Aegon had always been kind to her. When she had been in peril of being harmed most grievously by one of her greatest enemies, he had swept down from the sky and engaged in single combat with the man, defeating him. He had been a gentleman, and taken her to her family as a knight in a story. She should love him by the words of every song she knew by heart; it was what ladies felt for the heroes who saved them.

"My apologies, my Lord. I fear I have been a dull travelling companion." She looked over at him.

Sandor did not answer her. He just pulled his horse back a few paces to be riding slightly behind her in the place of a subordinate, like he was a dog brought to heel. He ought to ride at her side or even slightly in front of her.

"Please. Please speak with me, my Lord."

"Congratulations, Little Bird."

Congratulations? What was he talking about? Why wouldn't he even look at her? He acted as though he was suffering. She remembered when he snuffed out the torch after telling her the story of his burn scars the night before he saved Ser Loras from the ire of his brother and was named champion of a tourney. He had howled with rage that night and threatened to kill her if she ever told anyone his secret. It was difficult to determine which Sandor was more frightening, the one that made his feelings so clear or this new one that seemed so prone to silent contemplations.

"I am not sure that congratulations are to be given to me. The battle was won by Her Grace, Prince Aegon, and my husband, Lord Tyrion. They all arrived on dragons to save us from the Others."

Sandor scowled. He looked away from her. Sansa shifted, moving her horse closer to Stranger. She whispered a soothing word to the large warhorse when he looked at her with one of his bright eyes.

"It's alright." She placed a hand on his arm. "Have I offended, my Lord?"

"Not your lord. He is a shorter man."

Sansa jerked a little as Sandor turned on her with a scowl the likes of which she had not seen since he held a sword to her throat.

With a whinny, her horse spooked and reared.

Sansa fell back off the horse, landing in a patch of mud. The horse cantered off up the road. Sansa clutched her wrist. It was already turning blue. She had landed hard on it as she tried to catch the bulk of her weight. She winced, curling her legs under her. She gazed up at Sandor as a bit of mud oozed down the side of her cheek.

Heavy thuds alerted her, and she found herself looking up at Sandor a moment later on the ground. He stooped to her, gathering her in his arms. She leaned against his chest as she was lifted, wrapping her good arm around his neck. She leaned her forehead against his burned cheek, breathing out a deep sigh. For all Aegon's swooping in on dragon and wielding a sword to defend her honor, this felt more right than a dragon.

"Thank you, Sandor. I've missed you." She shifted a little, hating herself a little for the thought she had. Sandor saved her for her, knowing she would be wed to another, and Aegon saved her for himself, for his own purposes whatever they were. She shoved back the memories of all the times Sandor had saved her and helped her. There was no reason to think on past occurrences when he was at her side. None of those situations was particularly happy, nor was her response to being saved what it ought to have been. She should have thanked Sandor the moment he saved her, every time. He came to save her that last night in King's Landing, and she had disappointed him. And he still saved her again from those who would see her head adorn a spike the way her father's had.

He placed her in the saddle and removed his cloak, wrapping it up around her. Sansa tucked herself in tightly under it, pressing her nose into it, to breathe in his scent. It was so warm. He was always giving her his cloak. He was the first man to give her his cloak.

Looking to the sky, she reached for him. He slipped back from her hand the moment it touched his shoulder.

"Sandor, why?"

Sandor did not answer, but he did give her a long gaze.

He said he was not her lor—oh. Sansa shifted. He was upset because of knowing that Tyrion was nearby.

"Lord Tyrion and I had no choice in taking our nuptials, Sandor." She bit back telling him her parents had no choice either. They had ended happily, though she and Tyrion would only be a tragedy or a travesty. "My husband and I are nothing to each other. Our marriage is being set aside by will of the crown. I shall soon be free."

"Free for what?"

"To follow my heart." Sansa said, before thinking. That sounded so like the child she had been. What noble lady was free to follow her heart in marriage? She shifted a little, wishing she could touch him. If she could touch him, she could make him understand and listen to her. It was just like the first touch she gave him. It seemed to break through whatever pain he was feeling.

Sandor snorted as he led her into the training yard of Castle Black.

"Sansa, is all well? We were growing concerned."

"All is what it is, Jon. My horse was spooked and I fell off, but I am here safe and sound thanks to the man you see before you. He always makes sure I am as safe as I can be. I would have no other to protect me." She tugged his cloak tighter to her body.

Sandor moved around and took her waist, his cheek twitching madly as he gave a glare to the other men in the yard. Sansa wrapped her arms around Sandor's neck, leaning all her weight into him.

"So many cloaks given to me, _my_ Lord." She whispered next to where the ear that had long ago been burned away would have been. Her hands trailed down his chin. "I would have words with you as soon as may be, Sandor."

After dinner, they would speak. She resisted him as he took her arms and removed them from his neck. She was still wrapped in his cloak.

"Now, I owe you a story, Brother. Prince Aegon and Her Grace will be joining us. They have heard much from people of the story. I wish for my protector to join us as well."

"I think I will need more than one to explain all that has happened since last we saw each other. You have become as fine a lady as we all knew you would become."

"I must ride back to the party I was travelling with, my Lady." Sandor called. His voice was soft.

Sansa schooled her expression even as the tears rose in her eyes as she turned to him.

"You will not be away long?"

Sandor swung up on Stranger.

"There is someone with my group of travellers you will wish to see. He is a young boy with a black dire wolf. I am going to be sure he gets here quickly and safely."

"Rickon?" Sansa asked. She moved to Sandor and put her hands on his thigh as she had often done in their time at his castle. "Rickon is safe."

"You will know him better than I can. But he is a boy who commands a giant black dire wolf with a wildling nursemaid."

Rickon was surely safe with the people who journeyed with Sandor. He would not have left her brother unsafe. Her brother had his wolf, and the king had told father to get her a dog. "I want you to stay. I need to talk to you."

He did not answer, just stared straight ahead.

"I will send some men to accompany you, Clegane. If my brother is alive, I want him brought here safely."

Sandor nodded. "Send them on fast horses to catch up to me if they can."

Sansa twisted the fabric of his tunic around her fingers, stretching as far up his torso as she could reach.

"You'll be cold without your cloak, my Lord." Sansa lifted the heavy cloak toward him with one hand as best she could. She looked around, noticing that they were relatively alone. She tugged on him. "Come back quickly."

He nodded, wrapping the cloak about his shoulders.

"I love you." She rested her arms on his leg. "I don't want us to be parted again." She reached to her hair and removed a plain cotton ribbon.

He did not even look at her as she gently tied it around his wrist.

She had promised Jon a story. She could not break her word to him about telling him of his mother. Even going to get Rickon would not be a good enough reason. There was nothing proper or allowed for her to be sent off alone with him. They could not outrun the dragons in any case. All the rules were changing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it has taken so much time to get this out. My brain went on hiatus-became over focussed on another project (not fanfiction related)-not that that is an acceptable excuse, but I promise I have not abandoned anything. I WILL finish this story! This story is important to me. It will just likely be coming more slowly, So sorry for the delay. Just been busy with life and more. I just have way too much on my mind. Just know that I am going to finish. I am certain of that. I will try not to let the next update be so long in coming.


	65. Brienne IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...but it is not too late for them. She has already escaped a King and divorced one High Lord. Why should she not escape the third head of the beast as well?"

Brienne was quiet as Podrick helped her with her armor. The words of the Queen still rang in her mind from the trial of Lord Stannis.

_"For crimes of cruelty beyond innumeration, up to and including the barbarous action of human sacrifice, for treason, and kinslaying, you, Lord Stannis of House Baratheon will stand trial."_

Stannis had looked into the queen's eyes, offered no apology or words of loyalty. He stated that he was the king and had to make the decisions of a King when he did as he did. He had asked for trial by combat, to be judged for his crimes by the gods. If they found no guilt in him, then surely her Grace would see the wisdom of marriage to him, considering the unfortunate loss of his late wife. They both had Targaryen blood after all.

Her blood had boiled at those words. He was despicable.

The queen had told Stannis that she did not make bargains like those. They are the notions of folly, and he was not worthy of being king. He had no qualifications and whether the gods found him innocent or not, he was still guilty in her eyes, though the gods might convince her to spare his life. They would be silent when she banished him beyond the wall.

Renly would finally have the vengeance that her heart required she seek. Stannis would die for killing him. If Stannis had the Stranger as his champion, he would still fall today. And Stannis stood today as only a man, nothing more.

"It will end today, and what will you do tomorrow, Lady Brienne?"

Brienne turned to look at Lady Sansa, soon to be of House Stark again.

"I will continue to serve the daughter of Lady Catelyn if she will have me." She looked over at the young girl, seeing something in the Tully blue depths that gave her pause. She remembered her words to the Hound. It was clear that they loved each other, but that they were trapped at the moment.

"It would gladden my heart to share my roof and table with you, Lady Brienne. I shall need such friends if I am to return to King's Landing as the Queen and Prince have requested of me. There is another here who wished to speak with you before your battle. It is time that I rejoined the Prince." Her eyes looked frightened for a moment. "I imagine he will seek me if I do not soon join him."

"You will be a fine Queen Consort, Lady Sansa."

Sansa did not smile at the words. She curtsied. She had been engaged to a prince and married once to a Lord, a lord who was now Warden of the West. She was a fine lady, a lady unlike others. Brienne thought for a moment on all the unhappy history of the lady before her, and she heard no complaints and no bitterness toward her situation. She had even found a certain amicability with her first husband.

"Cersei Lannister taught me that being queen will not make you happy or ensure that you are loved by your husband. Forgive me, I shall take my leave. There is another here wishing to offer words of more encouraging and uplifting nature." Sansa withdrew with another curtsy. "I will be sitting with Prince Aegon this day. The gods, old and new, will be with you this day I am certain. You will achieve justice for your Lord. He was a kind and good man from what I remember of him."

Brienne turned to the door, placing a hand on the hilt of the sword. She would see an end to the enemy who killed her king so dishonourably, butchering him in a tent as a shadow where no one could harm him. Stannis would burn in each of the seven hells for his crimes. Brienne was certain of it.

"My Lady?"

Brienne lifted her head sharply, looking into the worn and tired emerald green eyes of Jaime Lannister. Jaime. There was no man she had ever known like him, just as he had so often claimed. She wondered if parts of the man who had made that bold assertion were still alive. She had not seen him since she overheard his conversation with Cersei, his twin, his lover, the mother of his children.

"I thought you were at Casterly Rock."

"As I thought I would be as well, my Lady. My brother tells me nothing of his plans. He has reason to keep much to himself after certain mistakes I have made. Loved once for a wrong, and hated for a kindness."

"Perhaps had pride not tempered your tongue, people would feel differently." Brienne could not imagine the people still calling him Kingslayer if they knew the horrible plan that the Mad King designed for their demise should Lord Tywin turn on his as he had.

"I am lucky not to be shortened by a head as I know."

Brienne looked over at him. He was so handsome and glorious. She remembered thinking how magnificent he was even in fetters, even covered in his own waste. He offered no apology for the love he felt, wrong as it was in the eyes of gods and men.

"I once believed that we do not chose the person we love. I still do believe that in many ways, but I believe we chose how we act on our love. You are about to act on love you felt. There is great honor in one who does so, so they say. Love can also make you do horrible things, things you never thought you would."

Brienne looked over at him. She wished to reach out and embrace him. He was not a bad man. She would avenge him just as viciously, despite how she had partially betrayed him. She had believed in her heart that Jaime would come and help find Sansa. She knew he wanted to be a better man. She was not certain about his motivation to be a better man, but she was certain of the desire.

"I have made so many wrong decisions in my life. When I was a teen, I killed a girl at the behest of my sister. I shoved her down a well. I do not even know why Cersei wished her dead. I did it because my sister asked me, and I loved her above all else. She was in tears when she asked me, said if I didn't, something horrible would happen. I do not even remember her name, if I ever knew it. I shoved another out a window, a boy of ten years or less maybe because I wanted Cersei in Winterfell and could not wait to have her. He saw us, and I was not going to take the chance of him telling somebody. Robert would have killed us and put our heads on pikes, and our children's right alongside us. What was I to do? Chose a young boy over the woman I loved and myself, over children I knew to be mine though they named another as their father."

Brienne remained silent, remembering when the shadow killed Renly. She had done nothing. Lady Catelyn said that there was nothing she could have done, but she still found herself wondering and questioning if she had done all she could to protect Renly. Jaime had seen what he was able to do and had done it. Some of his choices had probably been wrong, but they had been made with love in them. Whether the love was as it should have been, it had been love motivated. Renly had been all kindness and goodness to her. He never treated her like a monster because of her size or her plain features. She knew she would defend him with her life if she had been able, but there had been nothing that she would have been able to do for him. It had been the shadow of Stannis, some black magic.

"Sometimes, there is no right decision that can be readily made. Let a boy go free who can damn you, or push him from a window." It had been wrong to push the boy. It had been wrong to sire children with his sister. But was it wrong to protect his sister, his lover, mother of his children? Who would not protect the one they loved if they were able?

"I see another couple, like Cersei and myself, as my brother and his Tysha. I liken them to us though the differences are noteworthy. They are tied together by a bond of common pain forged through the difficulties of shared experiences. Those who have lived their pain can not help but see it—see it happening again to another couple. They made no mistakes, did no wrong, and they are doomed to endure the same fate if something is not done. Do I say something, Brienne? I have sworn to protect a part of this lover's circle. Do I let her walk the path I walked to the same destination? It destroys you a little bit at a time."

"My Lady and—"

"Yes, them. You see it too. I can never have a love song's ending, but it is not too late for them. She has already escaped a King and divorced one High Lord. Why should she not escape the third head of the beast as well?"

"It is your story to tell, Jaime. If you feel it can help, it might. I do not know. All the animals and trees have bowed to dragons in the past and are bowing again. Let us speak with her together after the Trial." Brienne hated all the weighted words, and she knew Jaime hated speaking in riddles every bit as much. But there was always someone listening.

"I did not mean to weigh you down with such thoughts. I am certain that Stannis will pay for what wrongs he has committed. You will see justive happen, will be its instrument when he is struck down."

Brienne lifted her chin as she fixed her helmet in place.

"Annihilate him. Anyone would do the same for the one they loved." Jaime's eyes were bright and pained as he said this. "If they were able. Anyone will do the same in the future if they see the need for it."

Brienne looked over the pained expression on Jaime's face. He looked as though he somewhat wished death for himself.

"After the trial, I wish for us to speak. You are not alone, Jaime. Your brother cares for you, and so do I."

He nodded to her.

"I will join Lady Sansa and her Lord."

Brienne put her helmet on and walked forward. A glance at the stands revealed Sansa seated to the left of the prince. His silver hair floated ever so softly on the breeze. He was every bit a true prince. Brienne remembered the cheers of the common people as his sister flew over the capital. They had gone to their knees. The Queen had flown overhead releasing handfuls of gold taken from Casterly Rock. It was certain that the prince would receive every welcome from the people with Daenerys at his side.

She took a deep breath, stilling all the thoughts in her head, as she had long ago been trained to do. She could not risk being burdened by thoughts of more than what was at hand. Stannis was said to be a formidable opponent. He was not known for over-estimating his enemies. He was known to have a measured character as strong and hard as iron. She would remember Renly and how he had slaughtered him, and the gods would not fail to judge in her favor.

The Queen rose from her seat, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and Prince Aegon to each side of her rose as well.

"Let the Trial by Combat begin. Let no man interfere."

Stannis moved toward her with purpose, his strange blade, the false Lightbringer held high and swung toward her.


	66. Sansa XXI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No, he is not a knight. He is a man who chose to save a life, but he has never taken vows or been blessed in the light of the seven. Once, I fancied that he heard my request to my father, and pretended that was why he defended Ser Loras. Silly, isn't it?"

Sansa walked quietly next to Prince Aegon. She gazed up at the wall. The trial had ended as she had known that it would. She glanced back over her shoulder at Lady Brienne who was following them at a slight distance. She would have preferred Sandor to be at her side, but he had hidden himself away somewhere. She tucked her cloak a little more tightly around herself.

"Are you well, my Lady?"

"Oh quite well, my Prince, I thank you."

"You may call me Aegon, my Lady."

Sansa crossed her arms over her chest, clutching the fabric of her cloak. It was more suitable that she should call him Prince than by his name. They had no bond, and she did not believe in her heart that they would ever have what he seemed to desire so strongly. She had not had a moment of silence or peace away from him. It was all just more of the game, a game she never wanted to have to be engaged in again. It was the game that took her father's life, her brother's life, married her to a man she could never love.

She wished Sandor had come with them. He had stood just to her side and behind her during the trial. She had touched his hand as the death blow was dealt. Much as she understood why it had been necessary, she had despised it. There was no comfort in knowing that one more so called pretender to the throne was defeated.

Her brother had been a king.

"I have spoken with my aunt, and she has agreed that because the North never raised weapons to us, that a great honor is to be bestowed upon the Lords and Ladies of Winterfell."

Sansa trailed her hand over the branch of a tree, remembering the glass garden of her home. The Boltons had destroyed it, and now their family was gone. Jon had chopped off Lord Bolton's head. She had not been sure she would be able to watch, but she had made herself, for Robb if no one else. Lord Roose had betrayed her brother, run him through for the Frays, who were also now gone. The Twins had been destroyed by Her Grace, Queen Daenerys, after she had been told of their treachery. She said that they would not live long enough to do the same to her. Sansa had not been told how the old Lord Walder had perished, but she could make a good guess when she saw the black dragon swooping overhead. The whole of Westeros ought to bend the knee in thanks for that action alone.

"I am grateful for whatever the crown sees fit to bestow upon my family." Sansa stopped before she spoke of how much suffering the remaining Starks had suffered. It was obvious that the Targaryens had also suffered since being deposed by King Robert, the usurper—the usurper, she reminded herself. "The rightful heirs to the Iron Throne have returned to us at last."

"Yes, we have," Aegon said, taking her hand and kissing it. He held it to his chest, gazing into her eyes. "My aunt and I have decided that it is only right that the Starks receive the honorary title of Prince and Princess."

Sansa jerked up and stared at the violet eyes.

"Your Grace—"

"Princess Sansa, if words could only be sufficient to describe the effect of your siege on my heart, I would share them with you."

Sansa felt sickness permeate her stomach. She had felt certain from all the time she was asked to be in the Prince's company that this was coming, but she had hoped to speak with Her Grace before the dreaded moment and that she might prevent the situation.

"You have become so dear to me that I would never wish for us to be parted."

It is from those people that one is most often parted, Sansa thought. There is every advantage to the match, save one. For a horrible moment, she saw Bran falling out the window of the broken tower at Winterfell, but she shook the thought back.

"I wish for you to return to the capital with me and be my queen consort. I am certain that we will share a happy life, for happiness apart from you would be impossible."

Sansa glanced back at Brienne who had stopped politely on the other side of the little clearing within the weirwood copse.

"Your Grace, I apologize if my words might cause you pain. It has never been my intention to do so." Sansa's breathing became a little heavier as she continued. "I have been engaged to a boy who chopped my father's head off. I was nearly saved from that boy by the family from which his wife came. I was married to a good man that I could never love, no matter the goodness he showed me. He was a member of the family that killed my father. I was kidnapped by a man who called himself my friend, had me call him father, only to find out later all the twisted plots that had resulted in so much pain and the near annihilation of my family. I watched him push my aunt to her death, and helped him make it so the blame was another's." Her aunt had been guilty, and so had Marillon, but she did not yet know if they deserved the fate that befell them. "I don't know you, Your Grace. Please believe that I do not wish to pain you, but I can not say vows that I do not feel in my heart again. I can not be wed to a man in whom I can not put my complete faith. You may punish me as you see fit. I am quite accustomed to punishments. I will bear the wounds as I have taken others from knights, so annointed and sworn."

Sansa shifted, staring at him, wondering if a blow might be coming. If it did and Sandor saw, she shuddered to think what he would do and what would happen to them both for it. But it would be a pain not worth living with to be forced to marry where she did not love. It ended in the misery of two people. Sansa shoved back the memory of how happily she knew her parents' marriage had turned out. They were one couple out of millions, and less than that had a chance of turning out so well.

"I am not going to punish you. Only a coward strikes a lady or orders her struck. I only have one request of you, Princess."

Sansa almost withdrew at the title. She had long since ceased desiring such a thing. The title was naught but a curse wrapped in silk and lace.

"Please, Your Grace, you may call me Sansa. We are beholden to you and your aunt. It is a debt that we can never repay."

"As you wish, Sansa." He paused to kiss each of her hands. "As to my request, your objection to becoming my bride is that you do not know me or love me yet as a woman loves her husband. That is something that is remedied as easily as a maester can bind a cut. Before totally repulsing my offer, accompany me to King's Landing. I have never seen the home of my birth. Your wisdom and expertise would be a great gift to me. I should like you to know me. If your wishes and heart remain the same after you know me, I shall never speak of the matter again."

"And I shall be free to go?" Sansa asked, lifting her chin a little. Could she really return to that horrendous place? Could she truly sleep in the Red Keep again, even if it was only till the end of winter?

"Free to go with my blessings, though know that you will take my heart with you."

Sansa curtsied softly to the prince. She would speak with Jon of this. Jon would not allow her to be a captive, though he would be staying here to defend the realm as he must. Jon was the only Targaryen worth trust at this point. She knew what other Targaryens had done to her family. She had heard the stories of what these ones had done. They knew what her family had done to them. How could they have trust, true trust? What if she was just intended as another captive for good behavior on the part of the Northern lords? How could Prince Aegon say he loved her? He did not know any more of her than her name and that she bought a beautiful and simple alliance to the oldest houses of Westeros. She would speak with Sandor this evening, force him to speak with her. She needed him.

"Dinner will be soon, Your Grace. Perhaps we should be returning to the castle."

"As you wish, Sansa. Please call me Aegon, as I have asked. If your objection is to the informality, consider that we are family."

Sansa held the arm he offered to her as they walked. It was at least delayed. She hoped to end it completely, but she had not been able to tell the prince she did not know what was in her heart. She had only managed to say the words to the man she loved once. He had avoided being alone with her since their reunion. She had not been afforded the chance to renew her statements of affection for him.

"Your—Aegon?" Sansa looked up at him. Perhaps there was something good she could do for her sister. She had so often mocked Arya.

"Sansa?"

"I hope it is not improper for me to make another request of you. You have been far too generous with my family already." Sansa took a deep breath as she waited for his reply. She had a chance to do something right for her sister.

"We are family. My brother is your cousin. You have only to ask, Sansa, and it shall be done if it is within my power." They entered the courtyard of Castle Black.

He was not her cousin, but her brother, however, there was no reason to say so. All that mattered was that Jon was loved by his family. What he was to them mattered little. Brother, cousin, nephew—they were just titles.

"It is about my sister, L—Princess Arya."

"She is a lady unlike any other," Aegon said, smiling as they saw her training in the yard with two opponents going at her with swords. "Jon is quite fond of her. He told me how she came to have that little thin sword of hers."

Sansa smiled quietly. She had also learned the story.

"I did not appreciate her as I should when we were younger. But I believe that the Lords of the North have come to love her since they have seen her. I hoped that you might make her your Warden of the North and the Ruler of Winterfell. She has always desired to rule a holdfast, and I believe she is more than capable. Rickon is so young. If I am to return south," Sansa held back the tears she felt and let her voice be cool. "If I am to return south, then Winterfell will require a Stark to rule it and rebuild it. My sister should be that Stark. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

"I have no doubt of that. My aunt said the same to me this morning when I broached the subject of asking your hand as my queen consort."

Sansa felt the sickness return to her stomach. It was imperative that she speak with Jon as soon as she could. She hated to weight him down with further responsibilities and thoughts, but he was the only Targaryen that would ensure that no harm came to her. She shifted a little remembering the present she had made for him. It would be the perfect excuse for a few moments alone with him.

"Sweet Sansa, I have some matters of state to discuss with my aunt before dinner. I hope to have you by my side at table."

"As you command," Sansa said, shifting a bit as he kissed the middle knuckle of each of her hands.

"It is no command, merely a desperate desire for you to know me better that I might soon be secure in the knowledge that we need never be parted in future."

Sansa smiled as her Septa had taught her. The prince was far too kind to give her such pretty words, and he had saved her from the vile, loathsome Bastard of Bolton. They were just words.

"Yes, Your—Aegon."

"Till we meet at table."

Sansa smiled and withdrew with Brienne at her side as soon as Aegon disappeared up a flight of steps toward the Queen's Tower.

"Do you know where Sa—Lord Clegane is?" Sansa asked, looking at Brienne.

"He has been training your brother in sword play, my Lady."

Sansa went quickly toward the training yard. The sound of swords ringing reached her ears, and she heard several men shouting. She stopped just outside the yard, placing a gloved hand softly on the wall of the stone arch. She stared at the men. Four men were circling and attempting to land blows against her protector. Trepidation and confidence rippled through her together. She knew that Sandor was perhaps the finest warrior in Westeros, but she could not help remembering her father's words to her brothers when they were first learning the sword, 'Remember that a bear can be killed by a pack of dogs.' He had been wanting them to work together to take Ser Rodrick and him as their opponents.

"He is a great warrior, my Lady."

"Unmatched," Sansa said, staring at him as pride filled up her chest till she thought it might burst. "I remember watching him fight his brother when the Mountain attacked Ser Loras Tyrell. Lord Baelish said that Ser Loras won by playing a trick on the Mountain's horse. I did not believe it possible at the time, for a knight to play a trick to win a competition."

Two of the men who had been attacking Sandor were knocked to the ground and rolled a little as he gave one a vicious kick. He brought his blunted sword down on the wooden shield of the other, splintering off a chunk of it. A chill raced up Sansa's spine as she recalled his battle with his brother. He had been so fierce, and his command to leave the boy alone.

"Though I have little and less doubt of the truth of his words now. I asked my father not to let the Mountain hurt Loras. He'd given me a red rose before his joust, you see. The Mountain called for his sword, beheaded his horse and turned on Loras for the trick. Ser Loras had no weapon and would have surely been killed had Sandor not defended him. And when the usurper put end to the fight, Sandor dropped to a knee and could have lost his head for his loyalty."

"He is a true knight, my Lady."

"No, he is not a knight. He is a man who chose to save a life, but he has never taken vows or been blessed in the light of the seven. Once, I fancied that he heard my request to my father, and pretended that was why he defended Ser Loras. Silly, isn't it?"

"His conduct has shown him to be a most worthy and deserving man." Brienne's words sounded soft and hopeful. "People do mad things when they really care for someone. Ser Jaime taught me that. Maybe it was why Clegane did so."

Sansa nodded, wondering why he had spoken so little to her since his return. Did he not love her? Was he embarrassed by the sentiments that she had expressed? She knew that she had not been ladylike in her behavior. Kissing him and sitting at his feet and hugging him and telling him how she cared for him. She thought he must feel the same, but what if the kisses were just kisses to him, the way she had been forced to kiss Petyr? He surely cared. He had to care. He showed her how much every time he saved her. He never was ordered to save her. He did so of his own accord.

Sansa stepped out from the arch and walked slowly toward Sandor.

Sandor had rounded on the man and was approaching him with menace.

"YIELD. Yield. Yield."

He glowered at the man, while the other three lay on the ground moaning softly.

"My Lord?" Sansa called. Her voice was soft. He had ignored her the last time she called to him, though mayhaps he had not heard her. It was easier to think that his mind had been preoccupied, though he had never ignored her in the past. He had watched her like a hound chasing a fox. He had been alone in a hallway, but his footsteps had quickened to leave her. At least, with people around here, he might not do that.

He turned to her. The anger in his eyes faded slightly, though some dark emotion Sansa could not name remained, as he gazed back at her.

"May I beg for a moment of your time?"

He glowered at the other men with a frightful snarl and stomped over to her, sword drawn and sweat dripping from his brow. HIs black hair was plastered partly over his scars. He must have been training for some time.

He stopped several feet away and went to one knee.

"There is no need for that, Sandor." She kept her voice quiet enough that only Brienne and Sandor could hear her. "Please stand."

He rose to his feet, and he was so close that Sansa was forced to crane her neck a little to look into his face. He always wanted her to look at him. She felt a pang, wondering for a moment about it.

"I was hoping that we might speak this evening. I have missed your companionship dearly."

Sandor nodded. His eyes roved her face as hers returned the look.

"I wish it with all my heart," Sansa said, taking a handkerchief from her pocket and reaching toward his face. She pressed it softly to the thin abrasion across his good cheek. "Perhaps we might share a walk."

Sandor nodded, reaching and taking the cloth from her hand. He turned to walk from her.

"I also desire that you sit at my side for evening meal," Sansa said, lifting her chin to stiffen her resolve to shed no tears at his obstinate silence. He belonged at her side and she at his.

He turned and looked over his shoulder at her.

"Please."

"Yes, Little Bird."

Sansa curtsied softly, bowing her head.

"I shall see you then, my Lord."


	67. Sandor XXI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Little Bird, you're peeping foolishness.”

Sandor watched her walk away from him. He shifted a little. The giant wench that had been accompanying her on a walk with the prince followed her away.

She would have her prince and feed her dog scraps under the table as was the place for a dog, even though she still seemed to believe that a dog could sit at table with a lady. Surely, the prince would help correct these notions. The dragon whelp held no love for him and never would. It would please the three headed shit to never have to see him again. He would be out quickly enough after the marriage arrangements were settled, sent from her like a kicked dog. It was good for her. She would have her prince—just as he knew she deserved. She would be of immeasurable help to the Targaryens. She would forget him and have a happy life as a queen and birth little blond princes just as she wished—but it would be for a prince who would worship her if only for how much his family valued a good relationship with the vast lands of the Northern lords. He would have nothing but an empty castle and his anger.

He strode quickly from the training yard after replacing the training sword and grabbing the fine Valyrian steel that Sansa wished him to carry. He was unworthy of the weapon, but she felt he was the only man who should wield the steel of her father.

He went quickly toward his chamber which was far from hers. The High Lords of the North now provided guards for her from their own families, though she had not been seen without the armored wench at her side. The guards always scowled at him—almost as fiercely as their lords. Sansa never let it deter her, and she trended toward dismissing guards who were rude to him with a harshness of which he thought her incapable. He wished she would not do so at times. It made it difficult to let go of her when she was the soul of kindness to him and always had been. He missed their time alone, when she gave him willing songs.

"Hound."

Sandor turned to the voice. He gazed at the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

"I hoped that we might share words."

Sandor looked over at the middling fighters that might represent the finest fighters of the Night's Watch. Lord Commander Snow was an interesting man. He had always had a talent for the sword, which Sandor remembered from his brief stay in Winterfell, though it stuck in his mind that the bastard boy would never be proficient until he had a chance to engage in a real fight.

Sandor glared at him for a moment behind his dark hair. Not that he could refuse the boy. He owed him the safety of Sansa. Sansa would doubtlessly hear if he was rude and want an explanation. There was naught he could do but go.

"Aye, my Lord." He followed the boy outside and to his chambers. The little bird resided in rooms adjacent to these. He shifted slightly as he noted some women carrying water into a room.

The door shut quietly.

"Would you care for a cup of wine?"

Sandor shook his head. He preferred to know the boy's intentions quickly so he could withdraw and get a modicum of the filth off himself. Sansa did not deserve to be seated next to a man who stank of sweat and horses and worse, not that a perfumed, shit mouthed lord was any better.

"You have served the Night's Watch in your time here. Your reputation as a fighter is well established. The Watch needs men with your skills."

Sandor stood at attention. He knew how to stand and respect those who stood so far above him as this boy did in his new station. It was one of the first lessons learned at the Rock.

"You would be most welcome here should you wish to stay. A man can rise to any position that he earns here. Your merit is beyond contestation and measure here. You will be esteemed by your new brothers here in a way high lords and ladies never will. "

Sandor held in his reaction. The way this boy's sister can not allow herself is what he meant. Wondering briefly what was worse, knowing that she could never be his wife and being by her side or knowing she could never be his and never seeing her. He could at least keep her safe at her side. He could gaze upon her and suffer knowing that they could never be.

He could not trust himself to form a response to the boy at the moment, so he nodded his head. He would not be rude to the boy because Sansa would be hurt if he did. He felt a sudden wrenching in his gut at the thought of her smile, her pale skin, her blue eyes. What if?

"Did sh—Lady Sansa suggest this to you?" He hated himself for asking it. He knew he should trust her, but the fear that she wished him gone as he had sent her away echoed in a sickening way in his chest.

"No," Lord Commander Snow answered, meeting his eyes directly. "This request is based on the needs of the Wall, needs that I, as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, must seek to tend." The boy looked to have more to say, but kept his peace for only a moment. "My sister has a lady's heart, a real lady's heart. I desire her happiness above all things. She is much changed since last I saw her. It pains me that she has been harmed so. She has suffered but remains full of kindness and goodness. I do not want to see anyone in pain. If things are to be as they seem from my meetings with my aunt and half brother, then I believe pain is in store for more than just her. Sansa has been raised to do her duty, and she is who she is despite the wickedness she has lived."

Sandor felt the sickness that had stirred briefly in his stomach ease with the knowledge that Sansa did not try to leave him behind. She did not wish to be away from him. She had sought him out and told him that she missed his company. She wanted him to be close to her, just a lady keeps a dog at her feet to pet its head. He would take whatever she would give him and beg for more.

"Clegane."

He turned at the sound of his name being called and scowled when he saw Jaime Lannister, the one handed man who could offer nothing to Sansa but was pledged to serve her in any case. He would just have to accustom himself to the arrogant, mouthy man. As long as he spoke no harm against Sansa, his head would remain atop his neck.

"Lannister?"

"I see you have found a fine mistress."

Sandor growled, placing his hand on the finely made new handle of the fine Valyrian steel blade.

"State your business, Lannister. I have no use for you."

"I wanted to speak with you about Lady Sansa."

Sandor glowered at him. Everyone had an opinion about what was best for him and Sansa. Why could they not be left in peace? He had given none any cause to suspect them of anything less than complete propriety. He made sure that he appeared as her guard and no more. She had perhaps made their relationship seem close, but how could a lady not feel a great degree of fondness toward her protector? It was only natural.

"Rather, I want you to know something." Jaime said, motioning that they should continue walking across the courtyard toward his set of rooms.

What could the Kingslayer possibly say that would be of any interest to him?

"Make it quick, Kingslayer."

"It is about Lady Sansa. She cares for you deeply. That is plain to see, and your affection is no secret."

Sandor glowered.

"It was clear all the way down the King's Road that you desired her but would never attempt to take her."

Sandor almost laughed. He had tried to take her, but she had refused to go with him the first time, though he had never harmed her. It was only the third time that he rescued her that she went with him.

"I don't blame anyone for who they love. You do not chose whom your heart selects."

Yes, and that was how he ended up as the lover of his sister and the father of her children.

"Don't let her marry the dragon prince."

Sandor jerked. That was not what he had expected from the Lannister.

"Please, just listen. You love her, and she loves you. Most marriages do not begin on so strong a feeling. If you let her marry another, it will twist you and hammer you down just as a smith does as he forms the finest blade. You will get to the point where you do things that will make it impossible to recognize yourself, and you will do them for her and for the love you feel. Lady Stark has suffered enough without having to be married where she will never be able to love. Perhaps those who know either of you less are blind to your feelings, and maybe you can hide it. But hiding it helps no one and will only hurt Sansa."

Sandor looked him over, unable to prevent a twitch on the burned side of his face.

"I swore to Lady Stark to see her daughter to her safely, though she was murdered by the Freys before I had a chance to make good on my word. Now, I will do my best to see that she is happy, and I promise you that the Targaryen boy does not make her happy in the least. I have guarded her door after she returns from her walks with the boy. She is drained and miserable."

Sandor looked over at Jaime. He had less talent for deception than Sansa. His honesty had been one of his better attributes, along with his right sword hand. They had been evenly matched fighters, which made him the ideal training partner. He knew that training with Jaime had been part of what helped him become the formidable swordsman he had.

"I wanted you to know these things. I feel certain that you wish for her happiness as much as Lady Brienne and I."

Sandor shifted, unsure of how to respond to the man who was suggesting that he and Sansa seek their own happiness before anything else. He was suggesting all the things Sandor wanted to hear and saying that it would be the only way that Sansa could be happy. Did Sansa truly wish marriage with him? He could not help thinking back on her words to him the night he had to send her to the Wall on the direwolf's back. She said she loved him. She gave him a lock of her hair. She had been writing and singing a song about a Hound and a Bird. She made him a cloak with both emblems on it—the little bird and the dog.

He could think of nothing else as he quickly bathed and made himself ready for dinner with Sansa. He tossed the handsome cloak over his shoulders that she had made for him. He glanced at the harp he had carried with him. He had yet to return it to her. He had hoped that she would come and sing to him.

TAP. TAP. TAP.

A soft knock at his door startled him.

"Come in."

"Sandor."

He turned and saw the Little Bird standing there with a shy smile on her lips. His thoughts turned to the last kiss they had given him. Her lips were soft and sweet. She fit perfectly in his arms.

"I was hoping you would escort me to dinner."

He bowed his head, unable to get the Kingslayer's voice out of his ear about how the prince made her miserable and he made her happy. He searched her face discreetly after she took his arm. Both of her arms and hands wrapped around his as she rested her cheek against him briefly.

"As you wish," Sandor said, looking down at her with unconcealed affection. He could deny her nothing.

"I do wish it," she whispered as they walked out.

He pulled the door shut behind them and ignored the Kingslayer and woman who were her escorts. He could not help closing his eyes for a moment as he felt her hug his arm tighter, pressing it against her chest. Her teats pressed to his arm, and one of her hands traced over his fingers softly.

"Very much."

Sandor closed his fingers around hers comfortingly and gently.

She leaned over against him briefly again.

"I have much for us to discuss, Sandor. I hope I did not offend you with my sentiments the night I left for Castle Black. It was not my intention."

Sandor looked down at her as he felt a a wetness on his arm. Was she? Had he caused her to?

"Little Bird, you're peeping foolishness," he kept his tone gentle, crossing his hand over to grip her hand where it rested on his arm. She tugged at her hand, but he held it in place. "No man would be offended by your affections. Men have killed for a lesser token." He wished he could say sweeter words to her, tell her how lucky he is that she would see him, really see him and could love him. The words of her brother, cousin, whatever the seven hells he was to Sansa, came to him. What did her duty mean to her? What did she feel her duty was?

"Sandor, there is much happening. But never doubt those words, swear it to me."

Sandor looked down to see her shining blue eyes staring up at him desperately.

"I swear it," Sandor whispered. He had sworn so little, and he told himself he had no reason to doubt her. She proved herself at every instant.

"We will be tested these coming months. No matter what you see or hear, it is for you. We will have our happy ending. Our song is not concluded yet, and it will continue forward."

"Life is not a song, Little Bird." Sandor said, wondering what she meant by such words.

"Lives have been made into songs. Songs come from life. Ours will have its good ending, but first we will have to face our old enemies and conquer them. We have run and hidden long enough. Now we will have to face the real king."

Sandor shifted. She meant that they would be returning to King's Landing, and that Prince Aegon wished to see her as his bride. No one would cast her aside this time. Any person with eyes could see her value as a political ally as well as a fine lady companion who would be able to make any man happy. He was to believe that she loved him while she married another.

"He wishes to marry me, and insists that I get to know him before I am allowed to completely repulse his offer. I will never agree to be his wife, and Jon will not allow them to force me. Jon will come with us for a time. He has need to travel to Dragon Stone and more for his duties as Lord Commander. I promise you, Sandor, that I will only marry the man I love, even if he does not—"

"Peep-peep, Little Bird. I told you, no man would refuse your love. No dog would either."

"Sandor, you are not—"

"The dog is my part of the sigil you have sewn for me, is it not? You are the little bird."

Sansa smiled then, tugging on his arm so he looked at her.

"That is true. All will be well, my Lord."

Sandor shifted. They were likely headed into more trouble than either could possibly understand. But they would face what came together, with his weapons and hers. He swore not to doubt her love for him, and so he would remind himself every day that she loved him for reasons only she could know. But he did not have to believe with her blind faith that the prince and his queenly aunt would set them free to have their happy ending. They might be going to their deaths, but he would follow Sansa through all the fires of the seven hells if she commanded it of him.


	68. Jaime VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Love can make a man strong, strong enough to defeat any foe in battle or tourney and foolish enough to take on any opponent. You have seen that strength and that foolishness displayed by your captain, my Lady."

The towers of the Red Keep loomed on the horizon with the red and black banners fluttering softly. The wall that surrounded the city sparkled a little in the midday sun. The Blackwater Rush glittered, and the colorful banners of ships could be seen from the top of the hill where they had spent the afternoon riding.

Jaime urged his horse a little faster to catch up and ride next to Sansa. He still had not made himself say the words to her that he meant to say. The look that would enter her eyes when Aegon would finally leave her in peace haunted him and left him unable to approach her in those short times to speak his mind. She would look to the man she chose in relief, and he could not bring himself to wreck the few moments of pleasure that seemed so few and far between.

Right now, the man she chose was back in the Red Keep training and doing whatever else he did during his off hours. Sansa had begged for him to be allowed to remain at her side as her guard. She had somehow made Aegon understand how important it was that the burnt man be the one defending her. Though Jaime still did not know how that happened, Aegon had allowed Sandor and himself to be named Captain of the Lady's Guard, he still looked at them suspiciously. Sandor in particular was distrusted by the prince. Clearly the Prince was much more aware of his surroundings and those within his sphere than Robert had ever been.

He shifted. It would be polite for them to share conversation, though neither of them had attempted it the whole afternoon they spent together in the fields and forests. A smaller guard of soldiers had followed them at a short distance with one white cloak amongst them.

"My Lady, are you enjoying your ride?"

"It is a small kind of a pleasure to be able to escape the Red Keep for a few hours." Sansa stared toward the ocean.

_Escape_. The word almost haunted him. He remembered offering Cersei an escape from Robert once. She refused him, and told him that if he loved her, he would let her become queen and serve her.

"I apologize for what you suffered at the hands of my sister and her son who was the King."

Sansa shifted in her saddle. She was too much of a lady to correct Jaime, and he was grateful for it. She ought to say something, but her nature was too kind. She ought to force him to accept the cruel boy king as his progeny.

"You were not to blame for it. I do not hold any anger with you for what your family did, for jumping to the defense of your brother. I once tried to defend my brother, when Joffrey took me to make me look at the spike where he put my father's head. He said that he would give me my brother's head. I told him that maybe my brother would give me his." Sansa shifted a little glancing away from the city and toward the forest. "Even Queen Cersei told me how important it was that your brother, my once lord husband, be set free. I believe that your heart was in the right place, and hers thought only of the upheaval it was to her life."

"No one could blame you for that wish, and I know that it does not help you at all to hear that I would not have allowed you to be beaten by the Kingsguard. I watched a queen beaten and abused by a king once, and I was told that I was not sworn to protect her from him. I have regretted not helping her. I would have you know that. I know I would regret not helping you as well, my Lady." Jaime paused wondering how to continue, how to tell her what was on his mind. He worried that his words might come out poorly. He was not skilled at this. He wished he was better.

"Helping me?" Sansa asked. "How will you help me?"

"I can help you only by telling you what happened to me when the woman I loved was married to another man. She still chose to go through with it." Jaime was quiet for a few moments collecting his thoughts. Cersei's love for him had not been strong enough for her to refuse or give up her desire for a stupid crown. He loved her enough to go against the wishes he knew their father had by joining the Kingsguard. He gave up Casterly Rock. He had never truly wanted it in any case, but it made him ache.

"I thank you for all the wise council that you always offer me, Ser Jaime."

"If you marry Aegon, you will be queen, of sorts, at least for as long as the Targaryens need you. You will have children, a painful burden, and likely more painful if you do not love the father. It might even make you happy for a time. I joined the Kingsguard believing that it would keep me close to my first love, despite how twisted the Septons say it was, despite how evil some of the progeny from the union have proven themselves. We always found a way to justify what we were doing, especially in our moments of doubt." Jaime wished he could take off and ride away from some of the memories. "I am sure that you will find ways to justify it as well. But think of what you will do to the man you love. I don't blame anyone for whom their hearts choose to love. Love is not something that can be controlled, only felt. Your—your Captain loves you. I know the love of the desperate that must keep it hidden. Not many couples are afforded the opportunity of beginning their marriages with love. My sister didn't love her husband any more than he loved her, and he respected her even less."

"I saw a bruise on the queen's face one day. She did not answer my inquiry about what happened. She just brushed it off, and when I saw her a few hours later, it was completely covered."

"Yes," Jaime swallowed, thinking of his sister and her strength. He could not help remembering also that even when she was most hurt, when her son had been murdered and was rotting, she still had not come to him for comfort. She waited for him. She only came to him when she wished for him to do something to serve her. The only truthful thing she ever said to him was that she had told him a thousand lies. "Love can make a man strong, strong enough to defeat any foe in battle or tourney and foolish enough to take on any opponent. You have seen that strength and that foolishness displayed by your captain, my Lady."

Sansa turned to him. A look bordering between confusion and anger colored her face for a moment.

"All I mean, my Lady, is that you witnessed Clegane at your father's tourney, and you saw the fight between Ser Gregor and him. All sorts of rumors circulated around the palace after that day, about why Clegane would want to fight his brother. Only one that I heard ever made sense. It made sense because I knew it, had seen it before, lived it myself. He did it because the woman he desired more than all else asked that the Mountain that Rides not be allowed to hurt the Knight of Flowers."

Sansa turned a pale shade of pink. She looked away from him, urging her horse to a slightly faster walk.

"You asked that, didn't you?" Jaime kept a few paces behind her. Her tinted cheeks had been answer enough to his statement. "You have seen the good that a man in love can do. But a man in love can do great evil as well. Robert Baratheon led all seven kingdoms to war because the woman he loved chose another and ran away with him, even created a son with him. I pushed your brother from a window when I feared for Cersei's and my life. I did not want to do it, but I saw no other choice. All I could see was the danger I had put Cersei in because I wanted her. I would not accept that it was a dangerous enough place that we ought not entangle ourselves."

"My aunt was kidnapped."

"Lady Sansa, that is a story we told while Robert was king." Jaime sighed heavily as they approached the city walls. "Now that Her Grace, the real queen of Westeros, Daenerys Targaryen, the unburnt and all the rest, has returned, a new story will be told. Best you get used to it. It is the tale that matters."

"I understand," Sansa took a deep breath. She raised a hand and gripped a handful of her hair.

"It is the way of history to be written by the winner. There is a new winner that was an old loser. It does not make it right." Jaime kept his eyes on her. He no longer wore the white cloak. It was okay, the way this had happened. He was not the first knight to have ever been dismissed from the most elite guard in the seven kingdoms.

"What really happened?"

Jaime felt a moment of sickness as he remembered the part he played in helping Lady Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar.

"It depends on perspective. I did not know Lyanna Stark well. But I did know Rhaegar, and the Prince was not a man to force a woman to any action."

Sansa shifted a little. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because the evil that love will cause a man to commit begins with something small, maybe something not his fault. But by marrying yourself to another and keeping the one you love and who loves you close, you will be condemning him to a slow agony. He will suffer daily. He will be twisted and contorted. He will not be the man you lo—"

Jaime offered his hand to Sansa as she dismounted in the courtyard. Sansa let out a contented sigh and wrapped her cloak about herself more comfortably.

"I thank you for your wise council, Ser Jaime, and I would like to assure you that I would die before causing pain to the man that I love."

"I am glad to hear such serious words, my Lady."

Jaime jerked about. Prince Aegon walked calmly toward her. He took her hand and kissed it before tucking it into the crook of his arm.

"Shall we, Sweet One?"

"As you command, Your Grace."

"You are dismissed, Kingslayer. Your lady is safe with her prince to defend her."

"If I may, your Grace, I would like a few words with Ser Jaime and to freshen up before dinner. Perhaps you might escort me from my chambers to the dining hall. I fear I must smell quite rank after riding all afternoon."

"Very well, and you must still feel free to call me Aegon."

"Yes, Prince Aegon. Thank you."

Aegon bowed and kissed her hands again.

"So I will come to escort you to dinner in an hour."

Sansa nodded to him and curtsied.

"I look forward to it."

The prince walked away swiftly and without glancing back at her once.

"Your captain will surely be waiting to take over his guard duties outside your room, my Lady. You haven't much time."

"So best we hurry. Ser Jaime, if I may offer you a few words."

Jaime looked at her calmly.

"I am happy to hear whatever you wish to say."

"Just because your first love ended poorly, just because it was wrong in the eyes of some and right in the eyes of others, it does not mean that you do not deserve a second chance. Every one deserves a second chance. Every one should have love. We would not have so many songs about love if it was not something meant for everyone to possess."

Sansa took his hands in hers. She did not flinch at the cold metal of his right hand. It almost brought tears to his eyes.

"You can find love again if you are willing to look in the right place."

"How do you know?"

"A woman knows things, Ser Jaime. I shall see you tomorrow morning, my Lord."

Jaime watched her slip into her room with a soft smile on her face. He would wait for Clegane to arrive before leaving her.


	69. Sansa XXII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is a beautiful story and a frightening one, my Lady. Whoever this man is, he has my gratitude for saving the most beautiful and kind maiden in Westeros and Essos combined. If I should learn his name and his deeds, I should offer him his choice of reward."

Sansa walked quietly next to Prince Aegon the next morning. Lady Brienne followed behind her in armor sporting the quartered stars and crescent moons of her house.

Sansa smiled, wrapping her arms around herself. She remembered the stolen walk with Sandor down the Serpentine to the God's Wood the night before. She and Sandor had shared a lemon cake and a few kisses in the center of the open woods under the light of moon and stars. His Grace never questioned the frequency of her trips to either the God's Wood or the Sept in the Red Keep. He never questioned the times at which she chose to go. It was another strange kind of comfort.

"Sansa, have you enjoyed the capital this last month?"

"This city holds many horrible memories," Sansa said, walking quietly along. There was also a memory that was horrible while not being so horrible with it so long past, though she still sometimes had nightmares about it. Nightmares that drove her into Sandor's arms in the middle of the night. The one with Joffrey aiming his crossbow at her was one of them.

"Perhaps it might help you to talk about some of the memories. I want to know everything about you. You are a very special woman, Sansa."

"In the time of the false king, many horrors happened. The common people were starving while Robb," Sansa looked down at her hands, rubbing her lips together. She hoped that she would be able to stop the tears before they came. She did not like to think of her brother. "While Robb and Lord Tywin Lannister were fighting and the Ironborn were raiding the North and Lord Stannis prepared to lay siege to the city—so many kings in those days. While that was happening, the supply of food ran short in the city. The common people were starving. No one who knew and might have been able to help cared. The Queen Regent and the King, the Master of Coin and Lord Varys, the Hand of the King—admittedly, I do not know what they could have done short of handing out food from the castle itself. Queen Cersei was not one for compassion or kindness in truth. The common people despised Cersei, and she loathed them with equal fervor. The callous selfishness and cruelty that she instilled in her son saw their bottled contempt explode like wildfyre. There was a horrible riot one day while we were riding through the city on our way back to the Keep from where a ship set sail to carry Myrcella to Dorne. It started with a man throwing a piece of dung that struck Joffrey."

Sansa shifted a little, closing her eyes and wishing away the stench that seemed to fill her nostrils as the memory grew strong. She raised a hand to her throat and moved more quickly toward the clashing ring of steel in the practice yard nearby. She needed to be closer to it, closer to the man who was practicing. She could hear the shouts. She breathed out a sigh as she came upon a railing of an open section of wall that looked out into the training area.

"What happened then?" Aegon reached out and touched her arm, taking it.

Panicking, Sansa let out a cry and tried to rip free from the hold. For a moment, she did not recognize the prince and cowered back from his grip as he pulled. Where was Sandor? In an instant, the hulking man had abandoned the fight and was at her side. One hand was clenched at his side while the other gripped a blunted tourney sword, and he looked ready for a fight. The snarl that lit his face was more frightening than the one she saw so long ago when he told her to look her fill at his face. Seeing him there brought her back to the present.

"Sandor, it's alright." She faced him directly, gazing up into his eyes.

His gray eyes were dark with a barely contained fury and glowered at the hand of the prince gripping her arm. Sansa knew if he had a sword, the prince might be less one arm at this moment. She pulled her arm gently free from Aegon's hold. She stepped closer to Sandor, seeing his cheek twitching argrily.

"I'm not hurt, Sandor. Just remembering the day—of the Bread Riot."

His eyes softened as he gazed at her. The gray of his eyes always lightened when he gazed at her. It was something she deeply cherished about him. He had never hurt her and always made her aware that danger was everywhere when they were trapped in the Red Keep with the Lannisters.

"My Lady," he said. His rough, gravelly voice sent a warm, soothing ripple through her heart. She took a deep breath. She felt safer with him close to her. "Would you prefer I walk with you and the prince for a time?"

Sansa bit her lip a little, considering. She did wish him close to her. The dangerous part was how irritable it seemed to make Aegon when she constantly preferred having Sandor with her to any other guard or protector. She had somehow convinced the queen to allow Sandor to share a room that was adjoined to hers. She wished that it could be just the two of them. He seemed to keep the demons chased away somehow.

"I would be very glad of your company, my Lord."

Sandor grabbed the scabbard containing the blade named Oathkeeper and secured it around his waist. He joined her side, walking just a step behind them. His imposing presence was a great comfort. If only she could be in his arms.

"Apologies, Sansa. It was not my intention to upset you."

"I know, Your Grace. We were surrounded by men, and Joffrey called for the head of the one who had thrown the cow dung. I was attacked. A man whose breath stank grasped me and asked me if I'd ever been fucked before. There was a man who saved me him the day of the Bread Riot. The commoners hated me for being with the Lannisters. They wanted me to suffer. A man with no title, not even a knighthood, saved my life. The peasants fell back from him when they had him forty to one. He pushed me back into the saddle and swung up. I clung to him as we rode hard for the keep."

Sansa sighed deeply, wishing she could freely gaze upon that man at this moment, but it would not be wise. She was worried she would give too much away. She could not risk the unleashing of Targaryen wrath. The last Targaryen king had killed her uncle and her grandfather, and all because they wished to defend her aunt. She could not say the words, did not know what truth there was to them.

"The songs tell us that a man rescues a woman because he loves her, because it will give her love for him. Whether that man loved me then, I can not say. I have never asked him, and it does not matter. Not really. He—he showed his love, and that is more good than any words can ever do. He has saved me more times since, always when I was most in need of saving."

"It is a beautiful story and a frightening one, my Lady. Whoever this man is, he has my gratitude for saving the most beautiful and kind maiden in Westeros and Essos combined. If I should learn his name and his deeds, I should offer him his choice of reward."

Sansa looked away from the prince. Pretty words, but no substance. He could not have possibly seen all the women in Westeros and Essos. It was a thoughtful sentiment, the kind meant to charm and please a lady.

"Thank you, my Prince. With your permission, I should like to rest. I find myself exhausted."

"Yes, my dearest Sansa. I should like you to be well rested for the tourney in three days time. My aunt is holding it to honor all the Houses who supported us upon our return."

"Of course."

"I—I wish you a good sleep. I shall go and visit with my aunt about the preparations. I fear I shall be training in the coming days, so we shall only see each other at meals, unless you should care to watch me in the practice yard. Perhaps you might share another memory with me this evening, to help lessen your burden."

"Perhaps, I might sing a song to you."

She glanced at Sandor and saw darkness clouding him again.

"I would enjoy that."

"Until tonight," the prince took her hands and kissed them.

Sansa did not meet the prince's eyes as he bowed to her. As soon as he was gone, Sansa reached for Sandor's arm.

"Sandor, I want to leave this place. I hate it here."

"Yes, my Lady. I will take you away from here."

"We can't leave yet." Sansa whispered, hating herself for the words.

The muscles in Sandor's arm tensed and clenched and bunched. She held his arm tighter, wishing she could take back her words. It was cruel to tell Sandor what she wanted; and it was worse to tell him it was not possible. She crossed her other hand over her body to rest on his arm gently. She wished that she could let Sandor take her away, but she did not dare leave without permission. Even when she just went for rides in the countryside, she always asked permission of the queen or prince before leaving the castle.

"Come in," she tugged on his arm, pulling him into her room gently.

"You ought to rest, Little Bird."

"I want you with me, Sandor. Please." Sandor nodded, though she could still see the tenseness in him. "It's alright, Sandor. I'm not hurt."

"You're not happy, Little Bird." He was still glowering as he withdrew from her to go to the flagon of wine on her dresser. He poured a large glass of the wine, downing it in a few gulps before refilling it.

Sansa was about to say something but stopped herself. She could not forget the words Ser Jaime had spoken to her not so long ago. Was his renewed drinking a bad sign? He was always drunk before when they were here.

"Sandor."

He turned to look at her, eyes hurting but still softened as they met hers.

"I wished for you often after you left. I just—I'm glad you're here with me. I don't think I could bear to live long in this place without you." She closed her eyes against the tears.

"Little Bird, I won't leave you."

She looked up and saw him holding a handkerchief. He dabbed her eyes where a few tears had leaked out. He pressed the piece of cloth into her hands.

"I'm sorry for the way things are, Sandor."

"I will speak with the queen and write Jon about my desire to leave the city."

Sandor nodded as she shifted forward, wrapping her arms around his waist. He rested a hand on her head.

"Will you hold me while I sleep, Sandor?"

Sandor shifted into the bed.

"This is a bad idea, Little Bird."

"I just need you to hold me."

He wrapped his arms around her as she snuggled into him and closed her eyes. She was asleep soon after.


	70. Sandor XXII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Then we shall see the words of Aegon's prophecy fulfilled, though not in the way he should expect."

Sandor breathed out heavily when he woke up. Looking over, he could see the little bird snuggling his arm and breathing peacefully. He jerked when he heard the knocking on the door. He moved away from her, hating silently whoever had dared intrude upon her nap.

"Lady Sansa. Lady Sansa, are you well?"

The Targaryen shit of a prince.

"I have brought a Maester in case you require tending, my Lady. My Lady."

Sansa was sitting up in the bed at this point.

"Prince Aegon?" she called and slipped from the bed.

Sandor watched her tug at the edges of her bodice to tighten and lift it a little from how her sleeping had loosened it. He eyed her breasts only for a moment before retiring his gaze to the floor and stepping back to stand by the table. She was lovely, and it would not do to be caught ogling the prince's betrothed, whether she wanted to be his betrothed or not. Aegon was not Joffrey. He would not give her away or watch her suffer. He meant to possess her in every way and be sure that every one knew she was for him alone.

"Come in," Sansa called, moving quickly to unbar the door.

"You were absent from table last evening, this morning, and lunch. My dear aunt said you required sleep and ought to be left in peace. However, my concern that you had taken ill overwhelmed me and brought me to your side." He took her hands and kissed them several times, tucking his chin over them.

Sandor glowered. His mistrust brought him here. He should have taken the Dragon Woman at her word. If he had, Sansa would never have needed rescuing by the prince. She would never have caught his eye. She would be safe in his keep. They would be there, content, instead of in this rat infested shit hole. He had not been able to be certain of the woman calling herself the Unburnt Dragon Queen. The idea of Sansa being in danger had so frightened him that he sent away the person that mattered most, the one who gave him reason to continue breathing. He longed for another drink. She would not have been in danger. She could have disguised herself as another orphan. It would not even be a lie. He just did not want her to have to lie anymore. She was no good at it, and she did not deserve to have to lie more when she could go to where she belonged—the North—where she longed to go more than anything.

"Apologies, your Grace," Sansa said, curtsying low to the blond haired shit. "If I caused concern, it was not my wish. I shall reproach myself for it. I must have been more tired than I knew."

Sandor clenched his fist, longing to pitch the purple eyed cretin out the nearest window. He was staring with improper lust at Sansa. The little bird was not his betrothed yet. He had been a fool for all the times that he believed that she would be happier with a prince. She was miserable here. Her smiles were rare—only seen when the prince left. She deserved a kind and good prince, someone handsome. She wanted nothing more than to leave here. He placed his hand on the hilt of the Valyrian steel blade. What he wouldn't give—but right now there was nothing he could give.

"Have you been so long here, Lord Clegane?"

Sandor shrugged his large shoulders. He had been dozing off and on, in between staring at the Little Bird who had until moments before been curled in his arms, her face nestled in his tunic. She was so soft, so perfect.

"I shall send Ser Barristan to guard the future queen."

Sandor held himself in check, only thanks to all his years of service to Lannisters. He had seen worse done to Sansa, than merely dismissing the man she most wished at her side, and maintained his cool by drinking all the time. The boy only spouted empty words. He could take words that would never be reality. Sansa did not want to be queen, and he would take her to Asshai and beyond to ensure that she never had to be here again if her heart was not so set on going North. He would kill the boy in the Sept of Baelor as he said his vows before he allowed him to force Sansa to be his.

"He will guarding my aunt during the tournament and thus will not be competing, but a man of your legendary skill will surely wish to try his hand. Surely a fine noblewoman will grace such prowess with a favor, but how are you to claim such a prize without training where they can see you?"

Sandor bit back the snarled comment. What kind of a shit was this boy? The blind kind. The cruel and repellent variety—worse than Joffrey. Joffrey never pretended to believe that a woman could see anything but a monster when they looked at him. The Lannister at least had the honesty to tell him to his face what it was. No games. How he would enjoy pummeling the prince's smug face into the mud of the tourney grounds. The boy was not as good as he thought he was. Sandor had seen him training, and he knew where the boy was weak.

"Should Your Grace not also be training? The finest knights of Westeros are sure to be in attendance. Best make a good showing as their prince. I have confidence in you."

Sandor felt the old rage in him boiling, the rage he had felt at himself when he saw the Half-Man stop Joffrey from beating Sansa as he had so longed and been unable to do. He had pissed away more gold that night on wine and a fine red-haired whore than he thought possible in one night, not that he cared about the money. He still hated himself in the morning.

"I have been but searching for an adequate opponent to test my skills, my Lady. Perhaps, your Captain of the Guard would care for a match that is not a wipe out against the lower knights."

"I can not speak for Sandor, my Prince, though I have never known him to shrink from a fight with a man." Sandor looked over at her. Her words. She sat at her vanity, taking her brush and passing it through her hair slowly and carefully. Red silk poured over her hands. "I once saw him fight a monster."

"He is still here, so this monster must be vanquished." The prince's lips smiled, though his eyes did not.

"Indeed, a animal mad with hate and filled with more evil than you can ever know. It was always slaughtering the innocence it had sworn to protect, and that is the least of the crimes of this beast. It left a mark wherever it mean and whatever it touched."

"I do not doubt it." Aegon was smiling.

Sandor kept his thoughts to himself, staring at Sansa's brilliant hair. He longed to press his nose into the curls after a night in her arms.

"Perhaps we might join you in a short time on the training ground, Your Grace. We have not had a bite to eat since sometime yesterday."

"Very well." The prince withdrew, giving a small bow to Sansa. He shut the door quietly behind him.

As soon as the door clicked in place, Sandor grabbed the flagon of wine. He poured a glass so full that some sloshed over his hand as he lifted it to his lips. His breathing was hard and heavy as he slammed the flagon down, unintentionally cracking it.

Sansa winced a little, making him regret his roughness instantly. If he was a better man, he would have flinched at himself. He would apologize to her.

"I hope I did not cause you offense, Sandor. I meant every word."

"He was mocking me." And she had not defended him. She had not said a word.

"Sandor, do you trust me?"

He looked over at the small woman, who stood so insecure with her arms crossed over her chest.

"He is the problem."

"Do you trust me? We can beat him, show him his own words thrown in his face, if you trust me."

"Yes," Sandor growled out, downing another gulp of wine from his cup. Whatever little plan was cooking in her mind, he could not say. But with a little luck, it would humble the fiery fool.

"Then we shall see the words of Aegon's prophecy fulfilled, though not in the way he should expect."

Sandor looked over at her. What was percolating in her pretty little head? She had been around some men who were masters of planning. It would be impossible not to pick up on some of their abilities, but her natural goodness would temper her so called lessons.

"I have something for you, Sansa." He had planned to wait for her name day which was coming up soon before giving her the present, but it would do just as well for her to have it now.

Sansa looked up at him with her perfect blue eyes. He reached out and cupped her face for a moment, brushing his lips across her forehead as she shut her eyes. He remembered when it used to anger him when she would not gaze at him. But she closed her eyes with him now, because she felt content and safe—not afraid.

"It's in my rooms." He moved quickly to the connected room. A small parcel was wrapped on his table. He looked at the flagon of wine and ignored it as he returned to her. He moved gently to one knee and offered her the wrapped item.

Sansa smiled at him as she sat at her table and unfolded the fabric carefully. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Sandor, you shouldn't have."

"You ought to have better, Sansa."

"Sandor, it's so beautiful." She took the delicate hair comb in her hands. "I shall wear it the day of the tourney. It is only fitting to save it for such an occasion."

Sandor nodded, "I shall take my leave, Sansa, to prepare for a match with the boy."

"Wait, there is something that I have for you, Sandor."

Sandor paused.

Sansa approached him with a bundle that filled her arms.

He took it from her hands and unwrapped it taking the lovely object in his hands.

"I thought perhaps for the tournament, my Lord. You will need it for the joust."

Sandor nodded, lifting the helm and gazing at the slender perfectly formed lines and shaping.

"That I will, Little Bird."

Sansa smiled.

"Another surprise, I suppose." He said, looking to her eyes, wondering if what he was thinking was truly what the little bird had in mind. He passed his hands of the elegant craftsmanship of the helm. It was the finest piece of armor he had ever owned, and all the better because it was given by her.

"The first of a series, my Lord."


	71. Jaime IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm glad Sandor was not there. He would have killed the prince."

Jaime shifted a little, looking to his side where Ser Barristan stood. He had been ordered to guard Sansa by the young prince. Jaime had been ordered to keep guard over Sansa by Sandor Clegane.

How far he'd fallen, taking orders from a dog once leashed by his father. Yet, it was not so bad as it could be. Sansa was wonderfully and beautifully calm and sane and kind. He served a madman and a drunk who delighted in injury and insult to the woman he loved. Only her command had spared Robert so long.

"Ser Jaime, what do you think of Lady Brienne's form?" Sansa asked. "I fear I have never been an excellent judge of such abilities."

Jaime shifted, thinking she was far too modest. He had heard from a taunting Lord Renly that Sansa had said she knew Sandor would win in the joust when he faced the Hound at her first tourney. She had surely known that the man was facing a Kingsguard, the best of the best. To believe and know that the Hound would triumph took something in her heart more than her head, though she might not have known it then.

"Lady Brienne is a formidable opponent. I know from experience. I would wager that she and Cleane will annihilate their competition, even the members of the Kingsguard who will be fighting. If Ser Barristan were to be in the melee with them, he would win without contest."

Sansa looked up at Ser Barristan.

"No one could doubt the famous skill of Ser Barristan the Bold. My father told me of his skill, and I never knew my father to say a dishonest word."

"You are too kind, my Lady, and as I told you before. I am naught but Ser Barristan the Old now."

"It is only the truth, Ser."

Ser Barristan inclined his head politely.

Jaime remained silent and at attention throughout the exchange.

"Lady Brienne," Sansa called loudly to the large woman after the two men, both northmen who had accompanied Sansa back to the capital, practicing with her yielded. "If I might beg a word."

Brienne came slowly toward them.

"I was wondering in what events you would be competing in the upcoming tourney."

"Joust and melee, if it please you, my Lady."

"What pleases you in competition pleases me. Ser Jaime believes that the melee will come down to you and my Captain in the end with a slight edge in your favor."

"Ser Jaime is too kind." Brienne's eyes struck him once again as they turned on him. He quirked a lip at her.

"Not kind enough in my praise," Jaime said. She was quite skilled, more than he had ever believed when he first met her. He cringed to think of his words. He had meant them at the time if only to get a rise out of her and see that he gained freedom from his chains—whether by sword or death. He had been most unkind, despite being wholly drunk and driven more than half mad, locked away from sun, freedom, and love.

Jaime breathed heavily as he saw Clegane walk out into the field. Men gave way easily like waves breaking on the cliffs near Casterly Rock. The former Hound pointed to several men dressed in the simple style of tunic that was worn in the North. They moved toward him slowly, raising their weapons.

Sparing a glance to his side, Jaime noticed how Sansa had shifted forward in her seat, her Tully eyes locked on Clegane with a brightness and joy in them. They held admiration and pride and pleasure. Jaime remembered that, when it was pure extasy for the chance to simply gaze upon the one he loved, blow her a kiss as he prepared to joust. Brienne had moved up to stand next to him.

"It is good of you to say such kind words of me."

"As Lady Sansa would say, it is but the truth."

Jaime chanced a glance toward the large woman. She really was quite ugly, but her eyes were lovely enough to make up for all that. She also reminded him strongly of the knight he had wanted to be, hoped he might have a chance to become—though he feared he would never regain his old skill. Brienne had been kind enough to help him practice at night in the Godswood. Her skill was wasted on him. She gained nothing from it, but she did it anyway when she was not guarding Sansa.

"You have shared much truth with me."

Jaime shifted a little, remembering all the things he had said in his darkest moments after the loss of his hand.

He slipped the fingers of his good hand through his hair. He had let some of the golden curls regrow.

"You have helped me find my honor again."

"Anytime, Ser Jaime. But you have an honor of your own that runs deep and strong that you never lost."

Jaime nodded to her before allowing himself to glance toward the shouts ringing on the practice ground.

He felt his whole body jerk as he saw Clegane and Prince Aegon swinging at each other. What in all seven hells was the boy thinking? He did not stand a chance, and what was worst of all for him was that he was becoming furious at his lack of ability to land a successful blow which was not helping improve his thinking. He had also opted for some insane reason to use live steel.

The boy had both his hands wrapped around the hilt of his sword and swung angrily at Clegane who was dodging and blocking all the blows. Growls could be heard passing between them, but Jaime could not distinguish the words they were saying over the cheers of the crowd and the clashing of their blades.

Sansa was standing now. Jaime cut his eyes to her, sliding a hand to his sword, not that it was worth anything. She moved slowly out onto the grounds as Aegon lost his footing, trying to sidestep while deflecting a massively powerful blow.

Jaime's arm ached just watching it. He knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of a blow like that from the man.

"You bastard!" Aegon yelled. "I am your prince!"

Jaime winced, remembering the words of his father. 'No one who declares in a fit of rage that he is king is truly king.' Lord Tywin had never been one to mince or soften his words. He spoke things as they were.

Sandor pressed a foot down on the boy's sword hand, exerting just enough pressure to keep Aegon from moving. He lowered the gleaming tip of the blade to rest under the boy's chin.

"You bastard! I do not yield. You cheated."

Sandor was totally silent.

Sansa clapped her hands loudly, distracting the whole of the yard.

"A wonderful match. Such fine swordsmanship will do great honor to Her Grace, the Queen, at the Tourney."

Aegon writhed on the ground, trying to escape the foot pinning his hand.

She placed a hand on the underside of the flat of Sandor's blade, lifting it with a touch as light as a butterfly landing on a flower petal. She knelt next to Aegon, gently touching his leg as though she was doing nothing more extraordinary than picking up a piece of cloth from her sewing box. When he removed his foot from the boy's hand, she placed her hand gently upon the blade again.

Sandor turned to her, sheathing his blade with a baleful glower. She returned with the softest smile and her eyes meeting his.

"It is well, my Lord."

Sandor moved back and turned to leave. He had not said a word, but he bowed his head to Sansa.

Jaime felt his heart tear a little. Sandor longed to plunge the sword into Aegon every bit as much as Jaime had longed to do to Robert Baratheon every time he disrespected his sister with whores. He could not say what words had been exchanged by the pair.

"My prince, you fought valiantly." She touched his hand, but the boy jerked away.

"I would have won, had you not interfered!"

"I feared for him, Your Grace. Your skill is great."

"He had me on the ground with a blade to my throat, you stupid fool!"

Sansa flinched back, just in time to avoid the full force of the shove the prince aimed at her. She still tumbled to the stone, curling up as tears welled in her eyes.

"Mercy, Your Grace, mercy!"

Jaime moved quickly, grasping the boy and pulling him back as Brienne unsheathed her sword.

"She is to be your queen," he remonstrated the boy, pinning his arms so he could not move them.

"Let me go. I command you."

Jaime released the prince, prepared to grapple with him again if he moved against Sansa. He stooped next to Sansa, reaching out a hand.

"She's been beaten by a monstrous king before, or maybe you did not know."

Sansa flinched away from the hand for a moment, looking at Jaime with slight fear that cut him as deeply as his fear in the dungeon of Riverrun that he would never see his sister again.

"Ser Jaime, shall we take Lady Sansa to her rooms?"

Sansa trembled a little as Jaime wrapped his left arm around her, leading her away from the yard. Tears were pouring down her cheeks as she pressed a hand to her chest to try to still her sobs and calm herself. He could only imagine the nightmare she was reliving.

She waited till she was safe in her room before she spoke to him.

"I'm glad Sandor was not there. He would have killed the prince."

Jaime stared at her as she collapsed in the seat. She was more relieved than scared. Her greatest fear was clearly the Stranger seeking Sandor.

"He's safe. They would kill him, but he is safe." She walked to the adjoining door and knocked softly. She probably wanted to see him to reassure herself that he was well. He had gone to Cersei often enough to recognize the gesture.

Loud footsteps could be heard on the other side. The door opened and revealed Sandor with a wineskin in hand. The man took a large swig from it. His throat moved several times as he sucked down the wine as if it was all he had.

She pushed up close to him, wrapping her arms around him desperately. Her father said the words the Lannisters wanted, and they killed him for it. What Targaryens might do to one who damaged Prince Aegon was a terrible thought to her.

"I love you, Sandor. I love you. I will speak to Her Grace the day of the Tourney. I swear it. No more waiting."

"You can go, Kingslayer."

Jaime bowed his head and left the pair.

"I am right outside the door, my Lady."

He doubted Sansa heard his words as she clutched Clegane.

"Stay with me tonight."

"As you wish, Little Bird." The man's voice was soft and gentle as his arms encircled the young woman.

He slipped out the door, pretending that he heard nothing. It was nothing unusual to be deaf to any number of occurrences. This was old to him, but what was new was that he was glad to be guarding them.


	72. Sansa XXIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jon, I know him. He is not what mother or father or Robb or anyone from Winterfell would have believed right for me. That is because they did not know him. I do."

Sansa gazed down at Sandor while he slept at her side. She shifted a little, leaning over to place her cheek on his shoulder as he squeezed her waist. She draped an arm over his stomach, pressing in and breathing his scent as she closed her eyes. She wrapped a leg over one of his, pulling him close and blushing as she felt the hardness between them.

"Thank you for not being angry with me." She reached her hand up and cupped the scarred part of his face, trailing her hand down his neck slowly. She remembered when the anger in his eyes had so frightened her. She had seen a spark of that anger yesterday when she moved between him and Aegon. The anger had been directed past her at the prince. It was good he had stomped off in anger. "I'm sorry. I was frightened you would hurt him. They would kill you for it. I can't lose you to your anger. I'd die without you."

They were together. At least she wasn't alone. His breathing was slow and steady. He shifted some as he rolled toward her, pulling her closer under his arms and pressing his hips against her. Sansa whimpered, lifting a leg to drape around him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, arching her back to press her chest to his. He pressed his nose into her hair.

"Sansa."

She felt a wave of heat roll through her as he said her name. She was so warm. She gripped a handful of his hair.

"Sandor."

He rolled his hips against her center, gripping her hips firmly before his hands slid down her thighs.

"Best we rise, Little Bird. It is nearly time for the tournament, and I have still not entered the lists."

"Of course," Sansa shifted away from him despite her desire to wrap herself around him more tightly. She moved quickly to the wardrobe with her nightdress trailing her. She moved behind her dressing screen as she tried to calm herself. She could not help but wonder if that was what a marriage bed was supposed to feel like.

Sandor moved closer to her.

"Little Bird."

Sansa reached and took the hair comb he gifted her. She slid it into her hair. She hoped she looked more composed than she felt as she looked into his eyes.

He reached out and cupped her cheek. She rubbed her lips together, wondering if he would kiss her. She shifted, arching her back so her breasts strained a little against the fabric of her night shift.

Sandor's eyes crossed a little for a moment before he tugged her close to his chest.

"It's very beautiful, Sandor."

Sandor leaned close to her lips, moving a hand to twist his fingers in her hair.

"Yes, my Lady." Sandor leaned in and brushed his lips to hers before lifting her away. Sansa reached for his shoulders.

"I will see you soon," Sansa said, curtsying to him. "I will sit at Her Grace's side today and do come to me. I have a surprise for all."

Sandor bowed to her and retreated to his room. As the door clicked shut, she sank down on the bed.

Sansa shifted as a soft knock was heard at her door.

"Come in." Three maids entered quietly and approached her to help her dress for the day.

She remained silent through the process, only stopping them when they attempted to braid her hair after the Southron style. She was accustomed to not being able to trust servants within these walls. She allowed only a simple uptwist, leaving a good amount hanging down in soft curls, more in line with the style her mother had worn throughout her childhood. Sandor liked playing with her hair. She slipped the perfect comb into her hair and affixed the long white cloak about her shoulders tying it with a gray silk ribbon.

She moved to the door as she heard a soft knocking. The snowflakes that hung from the wings of the opal encrusted bird shaped comb jingled a little with her movement.

"Your Grace," Sansa said, curtsying to the queen.

"My dear Lady Sansa, I hoped we might walk together and talk of what happened yesterday."

"Yes, Your Grace." Sansa glanced over at Ser Jaime who was waiting quietly to the side of her door.

"I understand you had a disagreement with my nephew."

"He shoved me to the ground and spat on me." Sansa said, remembering the slight spittle that landed on her arms as the prince stood over her. It was not the worst thing that had ever happened to her in these walls, but she saw no reason to share that with Her Grace. Best perhaps that the Queen not know all the horrors this place held for her.

"You are released from all obligations to him. There is no force here. You are free to marry him or free to leave."

Sansa felt her chest tighten. What if this was some kind of trick? She wanted to believe that Her Grace, Queen Daenerys Targaryen was above this kind of artifice, but it was so difficult to be sure. Cersei had often pretended friendship only to laugh at her and tell her how stupid she was. She remembered when she sought to comfort the other ladies in Maegor's the night before Sandor offered to save. She had wished Sandor back every day after, every day of deception spent without him.

"Why?"

"Because I knew my brother." Daenerys said. She looked over at Ser Barristan. Her eyes were somewhat distant as she returned her gaze to Sansa. "And I know what it means to be forced to marry where one's heart does not rest. It may turn out well, or it may turn out folly. I have known both."

Sansa tucked her arms around herself, remembering her older brother Robb. He had been one of the best big brothers she had ever known, and she would never see him again, would never be able to see him interred in the crypt beneath Winterfell. She did not even know what had become of his body. The Queen looked completely different when her thoughts turned to those of her brother, a kind of regretful hardness of a woman who had not been given a choice.

"What was he like?" she asked, knowing the politeness expected of her and genuinely curious. She remembered when Sandor told her what his brother, The Mountain, did to him for taking a toy that he had never even touched.

"He told me that he would let an entire hoard of Dothraki riders and their horses fuck me if it would help him sit on the Iron Throne. He beat me when I sought to give him respect and love among the people to whom he sold me. When I was pregnant, he offered to carve the child from my womb and give it to my husband before taking me back."

Sansa felt sickness permeate her as the queen continued to speak quietly about the brother she had known. Daenerys had suffered at the hands of her family. Sansa could not imagine such pain, wondered briefly before shoving the thought away how she had harmed her father after her rejection of him following the death of Lady. Her family had always been so good to her. Her father had only ever wanted what was best for her. He had made sure that Lady was not a pelt on Cersei Lannister's bed. Lady had not bitten anyone, but the Lannisters had cared not for guilt. Their joy had been found in her misery.

"I know what it is to suffer at the hands of a man that one should be able to trust. I will not allow you to be treated the same. If Aegon takes offense to this, it is for me to settle. He does have the Targaryen temper. However, I am queen, and I am sure that—"

"Jon!" Sansa stared as Jon walked down the way between tents with brilliant banners flying. He was dressed all in black. She broke from the Queen's side. She ran to Jon. "Jon, I've missed you." She leaned up and kissed his cheeks, leaning against him as tears welled in her eyes. She had not realized till she saw Jon how concerned she had been that she might never see him or any of her family again.

"Sansa, it gives me pleasure to see you. I think there will be a pleasant surprise for you today."

"Do say you'll walk with us, Lord Commander."

"Of course, though technically, I am here to update Her Grace about the situation at the Wall. I am glad to find you here."

"I am glad to be here if you are here. Perhaps you might sit with me at the feast tonight. It is too long since I supped with my brother."

"It has been too long since I supped with my sisters as well," Jon said, winking at her.

Sansa jerked. Was Arya about as well? She laced her arm through his.

"I hope you will have time for your aunt as well," Daenerys said, likewise reaching for Jon's other arm.

"Time to spare, for the moment, Aunt. We have broken the back of the Others. But I must not long be absent from the Wall. I am Lord Commander, and the Wall is where I belong."

"Will you be competing, Jon?" Sansa asked, reaching over to place her hand on his arm next to her other.

"I had thought to sit with you. With your permission."

"I am glad for your company. There is much I have been longing to discuss with you, Jon. I hoped that we might talk about Father."

Jon nodded, helping the queen and Sansa both to their seats and taking a place between them. He kissed each of their hands.

The knights slowly paraded out onto the grounds, and all lined up in rows in front of the Queen's platform.

Sansa straightened as her eyes caught on one of the larger men. He was not the largest that she saw, but he was certainly close. His gleaming helmet in the form of a snarling wolf sat atop his shoulders and a long black fur lined cloak. Her eyes locked on him.

"It appears that there is a mystery knight," Jon said, pointing to the man. "I do not recognize his sigil."

Sansa nodded, not revealing that there was no mystery as far as she was concerned. Several knights rode over to beg tokens from the queen, though she refused them all, until a Tyroshi with a three pronged beard and hair all dyed blue stopped before her.

"My Queen."

"Daario." She stood and walked toward the railing on the platform. She removed a bell from her hair and a ribbon from her sleeve. She motioned him to come closer and secured the bell around his neck.

"My dearest treasure," he said, cupping her cheek for a moment before she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Sansa blushed a little at the familiarity they displayed. The Queen was obviously quite fond of the man and not afraid to show it. She longed for the day when she would be able to greet Sandor thus with no fear of any harm befalling them.

More men filed by, till a boy in a flowing red and black cape and dragon headed helmet approached. He removed his helm.

"My Lady, my deepest apologies for my abhorrent behavior. I hope your heart will be able to forgive me. I let my temper get the better of me when you had done no wrong. I swear to never raise my hand to you again."

Sansa held in the shiver. The Queen had already freed her from Aegon. She did not need to worry about it, but the memory of Joffrey never striking her with his own hand rose. She shifted. She would leave with Sandor soon.

"I dedicate my performance to you and pray that you feel my sincerity."

Sansa looked past him at the large wolf helmed man behind the prince. She took a deep calming breath as Aegon moved away toward one end of the lists. She would leave soon with her mystery knight, only it would be no mystery, and she would be wed to him.

The bold black courser beneath the man sank to one knee in an unmistakable bow, the man on his horse joining the stallion. Sansa approached the railing and smiled. With the lance cradled in his hand, he held it out toward her.

"My Lord," she said, curtsying in return, spreading out the white cloak behind her. She placed a hand on top of the lance. "I see you are wearing no token."

He urged the horse closer to stage.

Sansa reached up and removed the half tied ribbon binding her sleeve. She took the arm he offered her and laced it gently and swiftly over his armor. He reached out and took her hand lightly before she could withdraw. He tugged her softly so she bent slightly over the rail.

She leaned close as she heard his dark voice whisper only for her.

"Every knight I unhorse is for your honor, Little Bird."

"I thank you for your sentiment. I am sure there will be a song this day sung for your gallantry." She whispered the words in his ear, remembering when he mocked her for calling him gallant.

She withdrew from him slowly, hating to leave his embrace. But an appearance had to be maintained.

The horse backed a few steps before cantering away smoothly bearing its rider. Her sleeve fluttered on his arm. Sansa breathed softly as she resumed her seat.

"I see a man has your favor, Lady Sansa. The mystery knight. I have heard such wonderful tales of them." Daenerys said. "Though I dare say he knows you well."

Sansa was quiet during the tourney, only really paying attention when one of her retainers, the Mystery Knight, or Arya's banner men rode. She clapped loudly each time they unseated an opponent or broke a lance.

She was quiet through the archery competition that afternoon. It was not till the end when the winner removed the scarf that had been covering their face that Sansa gave a start of joy.

"Arya!"

"Thought you would be surprised." Jon said, standing and taking her arm.

Arya approached her slowly.

"Going to chastise the ruler of Winterfell?"

"Congratulate her!" Sansa said, taking her sister and pulling her into a hug with Jon. "I may never understand you, but I will always love you."

"Even if a girl stains the pretty dresses the queen gives you?"

"No dress should ever have meant more than you, Arya. I was so frightened that you were missing, worried Joffrey killed you, but hopeful that you had escaped. You must know this, Sister."

Arya nodded. She was still strange at times, mayhaps stranger than she had been. There was a great deal that she did not discuss, and she was silent most of the time. But still she was back, and she was rebuilding Winterfell. The Northmen had come to love her deeply.

"It was when I found Sandor and learned that you were alive still that I could feel hope, real and full hope. I was not the only Stark left. If anyone could survive on their own, it would be you." She drew the smaller girl in and kissed her cheeks. "It would be a great honor to sit with the champion archer."

Arya nodded.

"The jousts tomorrow will be quite interesting, especially considering the combatants." Jon said, walking between the sisters. "However who is favored is entirely dependent on the Lady asked."

"I have no doubt that Her Grace would see her nephew victorious," Sansa said, "Given that her champion fell to Lady Brienne."

"Aegon quite surprised me, though I admit I had not seen him ride more than his dragon." Jon said. "The one who gives me pause is that Ser Robert. He is as movable as a mountain."

Sansa nodded. Ser Gregor had been the only other man she had seen so large and frightening. Jon had told her of seeing giants, men twice as tall who rode mammoths as regular men rode horses. Ser Gregor would not have been able to ride a mammoth thusly.

"I have seen only one other man to match his size. He died a painful death from a poisoned spear tip if what I heard in the Vale was truth." She remembered hearing about that from Randa, and her relief. The man who had hurt so many was finally gone. His death was hardly a loss for the world.

Of course, she had also believed her mother gone at one time, but she knew that Lady Catelyn had somehow been restored to life. It brought a shiver of dread to her as she remembered the dead hands and sickly rattling voice. She hoped that her mother would find peace by returning her father's bones to Winterfell's Crypt. It was not possible for Ser Gregor to also have come back, she reminded herself; his head had been chopped off and sent to Dorne.

"Arya, did—is Father where he belongs?"

"Father rests beside Aunt Lyanna and Uncle Brandon. The creature that was mother left after he was delivered. I have not a clue where she has gone. Her interpretor said something about Robb."

Sansa nodded. That was good. She wanted her brother back in the crypt of Winterfell as well. He belonged there alongside the Kings of Winter. He had been a King in the North. She only wished he had come to King's Landing and taken off Joffrey's head. She wondered often why he hadn't, and she guessed now she would never know. He could have traded Jaime Lannister for her and Father. They could have gone home together, not that it was what she wanted till Joffrey showed her just how foolish she had been.

Sansa hugged Jon's arm. He looked like Father, though he was not Father's son. She looked up at his slightly melancholy expression.

"The last thing Father said to me was that we would talk about my mother when he saw me again. He promised. I know he was hurt by my decision to join the Knight's Watch, not that Lady Stark would have allowed anything else. I could not stay there, and I could not go with Father to the capital. He may not be my blood father, but he will always be my father. I loved him very much, Sansa. I almost broke my vow to go and help Robb rescue him."

They leaned against each other.

Sansa could not stand to think about her last words to her father.

"The last thing Father told me was that he would find me a good husband, someone brave and gentle and strong. He said that Joffrey was no Prince Aemon, and I disagreed with him. I refused to see it even when he had smiled at the King's announcement that Lady would be killed. He never got the chance to find me a husband."

"Do not think of these things, Sansa." Jon tucked his arm around her.

"I could not even go and see him after they locked him in the dungeon. I hate this place."

"I was in the square the day Father died and Yoren saved me, got me out of the city. That was when I met Gendry." Arya offered. "Afterward, we met the Mountain and his men, were taken captive by them. Later I became Lord Tywin's cupbearer."

"Your Ser Gendry is an exemplary young man, Arya."

"Lyanna, I hoped for your company."

Sansa turned at the sound of the Queen's voice.

Arya turned and withdrew from them.

"I will sit with you at feast tonight, Sansa. You and Jon."

Sansa nodded, stroking Jon's hand lovingly as Arya walked away.

"Tell me, Sansa, what do you know of the man to whom you gave your favor?"

"He is brave and gentle and strong."

"You know all this of a mystery knight?"

Sansa smiled, "A mystery is always known to someone. I know the truth of some matters."

"So you know him."

"I know him by name and heart," Sansa said. "Jon, I know him. He is not what mother or father or Robb or anyone from Winterfell would have believed right for me. That is because they did not know him. I do. Father would be proud of my choice, I like to think he would be. He is the only man who has all the traits with all the qualities Father said he would find in a man for me to wed."

"You are quite passionate about this man, Sansa."

"I love him, Jon. I have for a long time. I always will."

"May I know the name of this man?"

"Sandor Clegane." Sansa whispered after looking about her to be sure that no one was paying them any mind. They walked toward the Red Keep slowly. She spoke to him softly about all that Sandor had done.

Jon simply walked in silence, listening to her. He had always been more quiet than any of her other brothers.

"It's true, that he could have cut down the Ser Meryn Trant when he beat me in front of the whole court. If he had, I would have been truly alone. He tried to help me as best he could. He would have died if he cut down that monster. He also could have left me in the street the day of the Bread Riot, but he didn't. He stayed when they could have torn him to pieces as they did to the High Septon."

"Sansa," Jon wrapped his arms around her.

She held him back.

"I did not care if I lived or died after Father was killed. I was about to push Joffrey to his death after he forced me to—forced me to—" Sansa cut off. She squeezed Jon harder, looking up at his gray eyes. "Sandor saved me, lived for me, I think. I would have died too, and I never appreciated him as I should have in the days at the Red Keep. He took a man's arm off when the man breathed his horrible breath in my face. He asked me if—if I'd ever been fucked. Sandor killed him."

"I'm so sorry for all you suffered, Sansa."

Sansa could not answer as she shook.

"Living is what is difficult, is what tries us. Sandor had to live for me. He is a good man, Jon. I know he has done terrible things that the Lannisters commanded him to do. But he changed, something made him change. He is not the man that he was when he did those things."

Jon nodded, holding an arm around her and walking her up to the Keep.

"You've become a lady, Sansa, a real lady, not just the little one as we always said you were back when we were younger. You have a lady's heart, a kind and good one. I can tell that you do love him. If he is what makes you happy, it is all I would wish for you." Jon stopped outside her door.

Sansa looked up at him.

"Thank you, Jon. Thank you for always being so kind and good to me. I am not sure what the future holds for me, but the Queen has freed me to leave King's Landing."

"Shall I walk you to the feast?"

"I would enjoy that, Jon."

"Will you dress to match your mystery knight?"

"It would be unacceptable to not match. It is one of a lady's weapons."


	73. Brienne X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If this was some sort of sick joke, she would punch him.

Brienne walked quietly through the brightly colored tents toward the music. She wondered what the knights here would try to do, whether they would start a bet about her maidenhead. She hoped they would. Many of them had stared up at her from the flat of their backs, and she would be glad to give them a reminder of the sensation if she discovered falseness among them.

She felt out of her element in the simple blue dress that she had chosen for the feast. She never felt right in dresses. She was hardly a lady. However, it was only proper, and Lady Sansa had had the dress made just for this feast. To not wear it would be rude.

"My Lady."

Brienne jerked a little and looked over. Her body tensed. She was ready for a fight if one of the knights she had defeated dared to take issue with her over it. A faint shade of pink tinged her cheeks against her will as she noticed Ser Jaime standing in the shadows outside the feast tent. She wondered what it would have been like to tilt against him when he had been at full form and how the fight would have gone had he not been chained when he stole a sword.

"I hoped to see you." He bowed politely. His curls fell forward slightly into his face.

Brienne turned even brighter pink as she noticed that he was dressed in a fine blue tunic made of the exact same material as her dress.

"Would you grant me the honor of escorting you to the feast, Lady Brienne?" Jaime asked, stepping closer to her.

She looked him over, remembering all his harsh words when she set out from Riverrun to return him to his family and more importantly when they had shared a bath. She thought of that often. He had been so handsome and so vulgar. But it would have been a lie to say that she had not enjoyed seeing him.

"Why?"

Something stupid. Something brave. Something noble. Something kind. Or maybe he just felt he owed her a debt for her saving him from those arrows on the river. But if he said 'A Lannister always pays his debts,' she would strongly prefer to not be with him. She did not want to spend time with someone just because they perceived that a debt was owed. Where was the fun of that?

"I care for you and would enjoy spending the evening with you, however, if you would prefer to be alone." He started to withdraw from her.

"Wait, Ser Jaime. I enjoy our time together."

"Shall we?" Jaime asked, offering her his arm. He offered her a gentle smile.

She walked calmly to the platform where the queen had designated that the champions were to sit should they come to the feast. She immediately noticed that the mystery knight and Ser Robert were not in attendance. Lord Daario was seated at one side of the queen and Lady Sansa at the other. She glanced over at Ser Jaime and where her hand rested on his arm.

Ser Jaime had filled out some since getting back to King's Landing. But he was surely eating better and he had undoubtedly been practicing and learning to use a sword with his left hand with her. They had spent much time together. He was not trapped in a damp cell under a castle, forced to live in close proximity with an overflowing bucket of his own waste. She remembered that at the time—she felt that he was foul enough to have earned it. Knowing him better had caused her to reevaluate her opinion, though she remembered when she realized that he was not a terrible man—nothing like the oathbreaker that stories built him up to be.

The queen was having a new history of the time of her father written that was to include Jaime's part in saving King's Landing. Privately, Brienne wondered what Jaime thought of it, but it was probably a topic best left resting. He deserved it, and she could not help but wonder what the world would say to read the new truth. Her Grace declared a copy would be sent to each of the noble houses of Westeros.

Jaime held her chair quietly as she sat. He took a seat next to her and offered her first choice of every dish that came around and made polite chatter about the tournament and what Lady Sansa and the Queen had discussed that morning.

He was as dutiful to her as Renly had been when she first met him. He stared into her eyes as the music began following the delivery of desserts to all the table.

"Would you care to dance, Lady Brienne?"

"You would not be ashamed to be seen with such a beast?" Brienne asked, remembering some of the first words he had said to felt horrible after she said it even though she was teasing him a little. His words had hurt her, even being aware of her lack of femininity.

Most of the time they spent together when not on duty was at night in the Godswood. He wanted to regain what he lost when Vargo Hoat chopped his hand off. He was improving, but he was not even close to the fighter he had been with his right hand. She knew it was a mark that hurt him, but he had fought right handed for twenty years. He could hardly expect to be proficient with the left after not so much as a year of practicing. It would take time, but his determination would only bolster his ability.

"Ungenerous to call a man on words he says while drunk and after being incarcerated and dragged around, forced to live in mud and dungeons and shit for almost a year." Jaime reached over toward her.

Brienne shifted. Jaime was not good at being a prisoner. She remembered his mad laughter when he was finally free. She had wanted nothing more than that he should shut his mouth before they be discovered, but he had been glorious.

"Would you be ashamed to be with the Kingslayer?"

"No." Brienne said, looking directly at him. People would have blamed him no matter what choice he made. Had he let the city burn, he would be horrible. He killed the king making him a kingslayer, so he was a monster. He had to make a decision, and he chose to save thousands and thousands of people, though his father's army had taken their payment from the city as they sacked it. It had not been his fault. He did not control that.

"Would you rather I flatter you and tell you things you know to be untrue?" Jaime asked.

"No." Brienne said, remembering to trust her own eyes and mirror before believing the words of any man. Men are full of deception, her septa had told her while also telling her the stories of Prince Aemon.

"Have I ever told you an untruth?" His emerald green eyes sparkled a little as he gazed into her eyes. Her eyes strayed to his mouth, hidden behind a handsome beard that was neither too long nor too thick. He looked handsome with it.

He was a beautiful man, almost as handsome as King Renly had been. She blushed and looked away from him, worried he would be able to read her thoughts on her face. He was shameless at his nudity and glorious in his confidence. She could not help wondering what it would feel like to be touched, really touched by such a man. Her face flamed further as she wondered about him. She needed to recover her senses.

"Not that I am aware of, Ser."

"You still have not answered the question, Lady Brienne. Do you not care for dancing?"

Brienne shifted a little and stood.

"I do enjoy dancing, Ser."

Jaime smiled and took her hand, leading her out to the floor. She did not flinch at placing her hand against his golden one.

They moved about in a graceful arch. Ser Jaime was an excellent dancer. She had rarely danced with a man who was not seeking to gain the favor of her father by flattering her ungainly form. Jaime asked her because he liked her, at least she thought he did. He dressed to match her. He waited for her to come and asked to spend the evening with him. Lady Sansa said that Ser Jaime was quite fond of her and always spoke warmly of her. She had not doubted Sansa, just that Jaime would be interested in her as a woman.

She wondered as he spun her out and pulled her back gently, what it would be like to be with such a handsome man. Immediately, the words of her septa sounded in her mind. 'Trust your own eyes.' Then she had been reminded of the vows of a knight, but a small voice in the back of her mind said that he had already broken that vow. And now, he had been released from all the Kingsguard vows, though he was still sworn to Lady Sansa. Jaime had been with his twin sister, and Cersei was one of the most beautiful women Brienne had ever seen. She had been glorious in her beauty. Jaime would never desire someone like her. She was not beautiful, and he was so handsome.

Brienne broke from her thoughts, realizing that she ought to be conversing with her partner, not thinking about how handsome he was, or how sharing a bath with him had frequently caused her thoughts to wander to thoughts of other things he had said. 'I'm strong enough.' She wondered if it was true, if he was strong enough. Not that she believed that he would rape her. He was not that type of man. But it was intriguing to imagine what a wedding night with Jaime might entail, not that she would ever be married, least of all to one of the most handsome, though not highly desired bachelors, in the seven Kingdoms.

"You dance quite well, Ser Jaime."

"I do so enjoy a dance with a partner whose conversation is so engaging."

"If you wish for entertainment, perhaps you might try the ladies' table as opposed to the Knights."

Jaime chuckled a little.

"Now, you're getting into the spirit of the night. Perhaps it should be I in the dress as well. I just think the beard might ruin the appearance."

Brienne tried to fight the urge to smile at his mirth and failed. Jaime would look as absurd as she felt in the dress. She smiled, even knowing how ugly her face must be, the scar only making her the greater a grotesque.

"I've had quite an—education today." Jaime lead her back to the table as several voices began to enjoin a young woman at the side of the queen to sing them a song.

Brienne looked over at the table where the queen sat and saw a harp handed to Lady Sansa. Only a few people continued to whisper as she began to sing about a lion that kept a bird with broken wings in a cage.

"Do share what you've learned today."

"I have never not competed in a tourney that I attended. It was quite fascinating to see the parade of competitors file by begging favors of the beautiful ladies."

Brienne shifted, wondering where he was going with this. What was the point? Would he mock her with this?

"The thought occurred to me as you competed, you did not seek any favor, yet there were a number of men who were sitting in the stands for one reason or another. Some injured from the War of Five Kings and others yet from going against the dragons."

Brienne almost glowered at him. If this was some sort of sick joke, she would punch him. She would have him as she had so placed many men that day, knocked in the dirt.

"It is the job of a competitor to seek a token from whom he OR she would dedicate their performance to. Has no young man so caught your eye that you would seek to give him a win?"

"Ser Jaime, that is not funny." She pulled her hands away from him and glanced toward Sansa. He was mocking her. Was she really supposed to? Did he want that? Why would he want that? Ladies wanted the handsome knights. Knights wanted the beautiful ladies. What reason did a handsome man, who was brother to Hand of the Queen, have for talking this way?

"I am prone to talking to much and saying the wrong things and being far too jocular, but this time, I am not mocking you."

Brienne looked down as Jaime took one her right hand with his gold one. It would be quite easy to withdraw from him and leave. His left hand pressed against her palm before she made up her mind. She looked down and saw a delicate chain with a lion headed pendant. Two tiny rubies on it glittered for eyes.

"Ser Jaime." She closed her fingers around it, drawing it back closer to her to look at more closely. She brushed her finger over each delicate line that formed the mane. "It's gorgeous."

Jaime was quiet.

"Will you let me wear it when I compete tomorrow for champion?"

"It is why I gave it to you."

Brienne blushed, lifting it up and draping it over her neck.

She became quiet, just staring at the pendant. No man had ever given her a necklace. She knew she would have to give it back, but it did not bother her too much. She sighed and leaned back, looking at Jaime and wondering just what to think.

"It might be best for you to get your rest before tomorrow. Your opponents will be fierce ones."

Brienne nodded, taking Jaime's arm as he offered it. They walked back to her tent, discussing strategies for the morrow's opponents.

Jaime leaned over and kissed each of her hands.

"Thank you, Ser Jaime."

Brienne shifted. She looked away from his face, not wanting to think about what it would be like if he kissed her. She should not want to kiss him. Lady Sansa said Jaime liked her, but she was not sure what that meant or how that could be.

"I believe that the one with a token usually receives a kiss from the one who gave it." Jaime said, taking her right hand in his left.

Brienne blushed furiously and pulled both of her hands back, tucking them against her chest. She could swing a blunted sward at him several hours a night and take long walks through all parts of the city, discuss the merits of the breastplates and swords at any Armorers shop, but suddenly she did not know if she could look at him. He wanted to kiss her. No man had ever asked to kiss her and meant it. Jaime was not known for a lack of sincerity. Why did he want to kiss her?

"You don't have to," she said, feeling one of his arms loop her waist. "And usually it is after the token bearer is successful and the lady is crowned queen of love and beauty."

"Who said anything about it being a requirement? I certainly would reject a flowery crown on my hair and being called a queen."

Brienne hated how vulnerable she felt as she looked into his eyes.

"Your eyes are exceptionally beautiful, my Lady." Jaime cradled her cheek and brushed his thumb over the skin under her eye. He leaned in, turning his head to the side opposite the way she tilted hers.

Was he really going to do so?

Jaime leaned in just barely brushing her lips for a moment before pulling back. She reached for him as he pulled back, putting her hands on his shoulders. They were broad and firm, and she pulled him back closer. His left hand rested on her hip while his right arm looped her back. He leaned toward her lips again. Brienne leaned against the soft lips as they caressed hers.

Brienne pulled back a moment later.

"Sweet dreams, my Lady. I look forward to watching you joust tomorrow. I ought to return to my rooms."

Brienne stepped backward into her tent as Jaime turned to walk away. She touched her lips which tingled a little. She moved toward her bed and leaned back in the middle of it with a sigh. It had been nice, a lovely first kiss with a man who for whatever reason cared for her.


	74. Sandor XXIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The helm flew off his shoulders and rolled empty in the dirt.

He gazed through the slit in his helm. He stood at the center of the lists, keeping his eyes locked on the competitors. A strong sense of sickness filled his gut as he stared at the helmed man called Ser Robert Strong. Something was wrong. Sandor noticed a sickening odor that clung about him, the same odor that filled the air when he had been in the presence of the Stoneheart woman, the scent of death.

The other competitor was the Prince, a headstrong, arrogant little prick. He glowered at the dragon head helm the boy wore. The boy had not faced real competition till now. His competitors had all but yielded to him before tilting. He would not be so lucky with this man. The boy had skill, but not so much as he believed he did.

The flag dropped and the horses raced down the lists toward the other rider as they lifted their blunted lances. Ser Robert's lance exploded on the boy's helmet while Aegon's shattered as it impacted Strong's chest.

Ser Robert's body was tipped backward with the force of the blow, and he slid sideways in the saddle but managed to just keep his seat. Aegon was also knocked back and to the side and seemed to be recovering his seat admirably. Each turned and trotted back to their side for a fresh lance. They raced toward each other again as the flag was dropped. This time, Aegon broke his lance against the plain grey helm of the enormous rider and was obliterated, knocked to the dirt by a hit to his right shoulder.

Sandor grabbed for his sword as Ser Robert jumped from the saddle of his horse before the beast even slowed to a trot. He held the shattered lance. As he came upon Aegon, he kicked him hard.

Hundreds of screams and shouts erupted. Sandor burst from his place. He raised his sword silently and hit the side of Ser Robert's helm with the flat of it to disorient the other man. The helm flew off his shoulders and rolled empty in the dirt. The creature turned so its front faced Sandor. He took a step back. It had no head. What the hell was that thing?

A distant scream echoed through his mind, reminiscent of a time when he had done this before. The next thing he knew a small body was colliding with him, knocking him back as fiery arrows pierced the gargantuan creature in front of him. The creature burst into flames, a horrible noise issuing from somewhere with it, as fire rained down on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry for how short this chapter is. I hope to have the next chapter ready soon. This story is winding down.


	75. Sansa/Sandor XXIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sandor! Let me go. Let me go. He needs me.”

Sansa pressed her back to Sandor as the creature stumbled briefly toward them before collapsing with a hand outstretched toward her. She turned and pressed her face into his shoulder.

“Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you? I did not want you to be hurt.”

“Little Bird.” He pressed his hands to the sides of her face as she lifted toward him, stretching her arms up around his neck.

“I love you.” She pressed her cheek to his burned one.

Sansa yelped as she felt her skirt torn away and a cloak wrapped around to take its place. She turned and stared at the fabric as it burned.

“Are you alright, my Lady?”

She nodded.

“Are you?” She stretched her hand up and lifted the visor to press a hand to his cheek.

“Fine, my Lady.”

Sansa shrank up against him as he tucked his arms around her. 

“Sansa, what are you doing?”

Sansa whimpered as she felt herself moved behind him.

“I'm speaking to my intended.”

Sandor removed his helmet and stepped forward to look down at the prince.

“You're menacing her.”

“Nephew.” All eyes turned to the Queen. She stood at the edge of her platform with Daario on her right and Ser Barristan on her left. “Princess Sansa is no longer your betrothed. I have released her from all obligations to our family.”

“WHAT?” Aegon turned to her. “Why?”

“Because she does not love you, and she does not deserve to be mistreated.”

“Who would you have over a prince?” Aegon demanded, turning to Sansa.

Sansa clutched Sandor's cloak about her waist and wrapped an arm around his. The metal was cool and hard.

“You would have him? He could be your father.” Aegon glowered at them.

Sansa released Sandor to step around him. Her eyes flashed as she looked at the prince.

“He is as good as my father, and you are no better than the knights who beat me.”

Aegon raised his sword to her. Sandor moved between them, stretching his arm out to move her to a position of safety.

“I challenge you to a fight!” Aegon said, turning his sword point toward Sandor's face. “To the death. Whoever wins will marry her.”

Sandor glowered at the boy. 

“Sansa is not a piece of treasure that you can put on a pedestal and take down when you want to show her off.”

“Aegon, please don't do this.” Sansa said, squeezing the cloak. How many cloaks of Sandor's had she worn?

“Why? Afraid that he will die?”

“Sandor does not need me to protect him from you. I am just tired of bloodshed, and I want to go home. I hate this city. It is the worst place in the world, and I never want to come back here.”

“What about your marriage? Surely, you want to be married in the Great Sept.”

“I've been married there, and that marriage was a sham. I loved the man I married no more than he ever loved me. I have no desire to marry in a sept again.”

Sandor turned to her with a dark look in his eyes.

“I was hoping that we might be married before a Heart Tree, a Northern wedding, preferably the heart tree at your Keep, my Lord.”

His eyes softened as he stared into her eyes, moving and cupping her cheek.

“With your permission, Your Grace, we would like to depart for our home.”

“Of course, I hope that I will be welcome to visit you soon.”

“We shall look forward to it.”

“I hope to witness the Northern Wedding. I have never seen one before.”

“As you say, Your Grace.”

“Ser Barristan, please relieve my nephew of his sword. I see no cause for it.”

Aegon gave up the sword with a scowl.

Sandor rested a hand on her shoulder and steered her carefully from the lists.

“You'll pay!”

Sansa turned as Sandor gave her a rough shove toward the crowd. The spectators were shouting and stamping.

“Sandor!” She reached for him but felt arms close around her to hold her back. Fear cut through her as she saw the dagger that pierced his side. “Let me go! Sandor!”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ **Sandor** ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Pain and panic lanced through him deeper than most other pains he had known. He shoved Sansa toward the crowd rougher than he had ever touched her, but she was in danger at his side at the moment.

“Sandor!”

He swung the Valyrian steel around, slicing it through his attacker. He shook with rage as he saw the prince cleaved almost from shoulder through to his bowels as he fell back dead. He could have hit Sansa. He sank to his knees with the pain of the dagger.

“Sandor! Let me go. Let me go. He needs me.”

A moment later warm arms wrapped around him as he sat back on his knees.

“Stay still, my Love. We'll get a maester for you. It'll be alright.”

“You're safe.” Sandor mumbled reaching for her face. 

Tears poured down her face as she trembled horribly. She tore at the fine sleeve of her dress, getting it unlaced with some fierce tugging. She pressed the fabric to his side around the edge of the dagger.

He grasped her face, her tears bathing his hand before he blacked out from pain.


	76. Sansa XXV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He liked seeing her when he woke. It kept him from being too horribly unpleasant and difficult.

Sansa cradled his hand as the maester changed the dressing on his wound. His cloak still wound around her waist. She rubbed her hand up and down his arm, holding his hand against her cheek.

“He needs to rest, Lady Sansa. As do you, my Lady.”

“He is resting, and he will want me here when wakes. I will stay with him.” She tucked her cheek close to his palm. He liked seeing her when he awoke. It kept him from being too horribly unpleasant and difficult.

He had ripped his stitches open and been bleeding profusely the first time he awoke while the maester was tending him. Despite her insistence, she allowed herself to be sent out because of his state of undress. He had a knife at the man's throat until she coaxed him to let go and convinced him that she was safe. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him humming softly while the maester tended him. She promised him that she was safe and would stay with him, and she had not left his bedside.

Sandor saved her from being stabbed. She saved him from fire. She clutched the cloak he had tucked around her, remembering the other times she had hidden under his cloak. Now he was here, and she was still huddled under his cloak. He would give her his cloak for everyone to see soon.

She lifted her head and moved, sitting on the bed with him. She tucked his arm around her and leaned down on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. She remembered when he told her about how his face was burned. That had been one of the worst stories that she had ever heard. It was so strange too, how he had been. Commanding her to look her fill on him shortly before dousing the flame in dust on their way back to the Red Keep. That was the first time she reached out to him, on his shoulder when she told him that his brother was not a true knight.

He groaned loudly and his eyes slit open the barest amount. He squinted against the light, and a scowl crossed his features until his eyes slid to her. His eyes opened farther, and his fingers contracted against her back, digging into the material of her dress.

“Sansa, where are you?”

“Sandor. Be calm. All is well. I'm here. I'm right here. I won't leave.” Before she thought better of it, she moved up and pressed her lips over his. She passed her fingers through his dark hair as she pulled back. She gazed upon his face. 

His eyes were a little hazy as he answered. 

“Good.”

“I love you, Sandor. I never want to leave you.” She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek to his. “How are you feeling?”

“I will be fine.”

Sansa bit her lip. He seemed stronger than he had the last times he woke and far more lucid. She shifted, breathing out heavily with relief before leaning close to Sandor. She rested her forehead against his and draped her arms on his neck.

“Are you hungry, thirsty?”

“Wine.”

“Water.” Sansa moved quickly to pour him a cup of water. “The maester has been giving you milk of the poppy. Wine and milk of poppy are not allowed.”

Sandor snorted. She knew he would prefer the wine to water. But he was in no position to put up much of an argument.

“Tell that damn maester that I want no more poppy.”

Sansa winced at the curse. 

"Sorry, Little Bird."

“I will relay the message,” she said, handing him the cup of water and sitting on the bed next to him as he sat up. “Why did you do that?” She had to know. He always did.

“I told you, Bird. A dog will die for you and never lie to you.”

Sansa laughed as she sniffled.

“Even for a wolf, a dog will die. Is that what dogs do to wolves?”

Sandor groaned and moved his hand to pass through her auburn hair forcing himself up so he could lean against the headboard.

“Dogs sometimes run with wolves, or so you claim the Northmen say. Might be I am one of those. A dog chasing a bright red bird that always sang her peeping songs close to him.”

“And always wishes to sing to him.” Sansa leaned her forehead on his. She kissed his lips softly, resting her hands on his cheeks.

“I've had worse, Little Bird.”

“I know.” Sansa felt the tears in her voice and eyes.

Sandor shifted and took her close, hugging her. He grasped all her hair in one hand. She looked into his eyes with no prompting.

“I told you I would kill anyone who tried to hurt you.”

“You always save me, Sandor.” Sansa looked down at him. “The Queen says we are to be married as soon as we wish and may return home.”

“I am ready to return when you are, Sansa.” His fingers combed through her hair. “I am yours to command, my Lady.”

“We'll leave as soon as the maester says you are well enough to travel.” Sansa shifted, climbing to her feet. It was not appropriate to lie so close to him, though they had been inappropriate for the past week. They were not married, yet.

“I am well.”

“I said when the maester says you are well.” Sansa said. She moved to withdraw.

“Stay. Little Bird, please stay.”

“I should let you rest.”

“Not tired. A dog trails his mistress's skirts.” Sandor pulled her close by her wrist. “Won't rest if you leave. Just sleep, here. With me.”

“Of course.” Sansa shifted a little. She turned to him. She could feel his eyes on her as she loosened the laces. She turned to him after laying her dress aside.

His eyes were open wide and quite softer than she had ever seen them.

“The dress is uncomfortable and not for sleeping.”

He nodded, reaching for her arm as he shifted some and tugged her down close to him.

“I love you, Sansa.” He patted her hair as she put her head on the pillow next to his.

Sansa sighed and closed her eyes. She drifted off to sleep as his arms moved around her.


	77. Sandor XXV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reason is you.

Sandor looked out into the small godswood at Clegane Keep. Lords and ladies in brightly colored garments stood in quiet rows. The dragon queen sat in a large chair while her monstrous beast swooped through the sky.

How much longer would Sansa take? It felt like he had been waiting for hours here on top of the rest of the time, but Sansa had said that all she wanted was a northern wedding in front of the tree that he brought to his godswood. 

Her words floated back to him. _I've not been happier since the death of my father than in the time we spent at your home, and that is where I would be married._

He was drawn from his thoughts a moment later when soft gasps caught his attention. He lifted his eyes to gaze into her shining face. Her dress was long and floated behind her, silvery and silken. Gorgeous red hair like fire flowed free behind her back. Her maiden cloak was simple wool stitched with a dire wolf by her own hands, but the most beautiful thing he saw was her smile.

He wonderingly glanced to the strange northern god. If he were religious, he would believe that the god gave her to him. As it was, he would never know what foolishness had led her to take his hand. 

“My Lord, I hope that I am pleasing to you.”

Sandor nodded, reaching out to take her arm and move her closer. He gripped her hands, helping her kneel to the tree.

When it came to northern weddings, he had gone to converse with Lady Sansa's savage sister for advice about what to expect. He was told that the northerners decided what vows they took to their intended ones. He was to say what he would fulfill to her.

“Lady Sansa, of House Stark. I would be your husband. I'm not a perfect man. You know this better than any woman. I have made many mistakes. I have been cruel with my words to you, and chances are my words will hurt you in our marriage. I was not so good at helping you as I thought I was. I want you to know that I vow to do better, and that with your guidance--” He tucked her hands against his face. “I have changed from who I used to be. You are the reason I am a better man. I will never deserve you. Whatever you've done, I'll never understand. I vow to be ever faithful to you.”

Her fingers traced his face.

“I ask you to hold my leash as you have so long now. Whatever you wish that I can give is yours, even my life, because without you, my life would be nothing without you as it was before you. I have new purpose. The reason is you.”

“My Lord, I would be your wife.” Sandor almost moaned as she pulled his head down to rest their foreheads together. “Life would have killed me if I hadn't had you. Every memory I had of our time together—every memory real or imagined was comfort and strength, helping me remember tiny pieces of who I was as a monster tried to strip me of all I am. You helped bring me back. You brought my songs back, even if they are just silly chirps of a bird.”

Sandor leaned desperately against her, tipping his head to her shoulder.

“There is no life for me without you, and I would have been dead so many times without your words and your sword. You are the bravest, gentlest, most strongest man I've ever known, strong both in nature and conviction, and I know that I will never meet another like you. I don't want to. I don't need to. My father told me that he would find me someone brave, gentle, and strong. I think if he knew you, really knew you as I do, that you would be whom he would have chosen. You are good to me. I am grateful. I vow to be your obedient, gentle wife who loves you. Whatever you wish, I would give as I can. We will surely have our share of problems, but we've overcome so many of those already, that I hardly think more could long separate us.”

Sandor pressed his cheek close to hers, gripping a handful of her hair. He pulled back enough to look at her. 

“As foolish a bird as ever, and I would never see that change, Sweet Bird.” He pressed his lips to hers gently, pulling her into his lap. He could not care less that wetness from the snow was seeping through his trousers as he released the clasp of her cloak, taking it and hanging it on one of the low branches of the heart tree. He tugged his own from his shoulders, the one she had stitched so carefully and wrapped it around her shoulders. 

He was married. She was his little bird forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life was something of a mess these past months. It is not a good excuse, but it is all I have. I think that this is all that I had left to do. Apologies that it took far too long.


End file.
